/ 


/ 


Copifrt^fu.jgO'i.bvM.WaUerliunne^. 


HROM  AN   OKICINAl.  i;RAW'IN(;   BY  CI  ARh  VICTOR    DWICGIKS. 


The  iliiiliess  opened  Ike  library  door,   lohere  she 

had  been  informed  she  should  find 

Lord  Montacitte. 


TANCRED 

OR 

The    New    Crusade 


BY 

BENJAMIN    DISRAEL 

EARL   OF   BEACONSFIELD 


VOLUME  /. 


M.    WALTER    DUNNE 

NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 


Copyright,   1904,  by 

M.  WALTER    DUNNE 
Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London 


^7-1  C.S^ 


CONTENTS 


TANCRED 

Chapter  I.  page 

A    MATTER    OF    IMPORTANCE  I 

Chapter  II. 

THE    HOUSE    OF    BELLAMONT II 

Chapter  III. 

A    DISCUSSION    about   MONEY 24 

Chapter  IV. 

MONTACUTE   CASTLE 29 

Chapter  V. 

THE    heir    COMES    OF    AGE 35 

Chapter  VI. 

A    FESTAL    DAY 45 

Chapter  VII. 

A   STRANGE    PROPOSAL 56 

Chapter  VIII. 

the  decision 73 

Chapter  IX. 

TANCRED,    THE    NEW   CRUSADER         ....         81 

(V) 


vi  CONTENTS 

Chapter  X.  page 

A  VISIONARY 89 

Chapter  XI. 

ADVICE    FROM    A    MAN    OF   THE    WORLD        .       .         97 

Chapter  XII. 

THE  dreamer  enters  SOCIETY  ....     I06 

Chapter  XIII. 

A    FEMININE    DIPLOMATIST II5 

Chapter  XIV. 

THE   CONINGSBYS 1 26 

Chapter  XV. 

DISENCHANTMENT 1 37 

Chapter  XVI. 

TANCRED   RESCUES    A    LADY   IN   DISTRESS        .  1 45 

Chapter  XVII. 

THE    WIZARD   OF    FORTUNE 1 53 

Chapter  XVIII. 

AN    INTERESTING    RENCONTRE 1 64 

Chapter  XIX. 

LORD   HENRY   SYMPATHISES 1 72 

Chapter  XX. 

A    MODERN    TROUBADOUR      181 

Chapter  XXI. 

SWEET   sympathy I94 

Chapter  XXII. 

the   CRUSADER    RECEIVES   A   SHOCK     .      .      .  204 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

THE  DUCHESS  OPENED  THE  LIBRARY  DOOR,  WHERE 
SHE  HAD  BEEN  INFORMED  SHE  SHOULD  FIND 
LORD   MONTACUTE 72 

TANCRED   OPENED   THE    DOOR   OF   THE   CHARIOT.       .       .       1 52 


(vii) 


KEY  TO  THE  PRINCIPAL  CHARACTERS 
IN  TANCRED 


Tancred,  Lord  Moniaciit, 
Duke  of  Bellamont    . 
Duchess  of  Bellamont 

Sidonia  

Lord  Es  fed  ale  .  .  . 
Lord  Henry  Sydney  . 
Mr.  Coningsby  .  .  . 
Mr.    Vavasour   .     .     . 


Lady  Si.  fuiians  . 
Mr.  Guy  Flouncey 
Mrs.   Guy  Flouncey 


The  Author 

Duke  of  Norfolk 

Ducliess  of  Norfolk 

Baron  Lionel  Nathan  de  Rothschild 

Lord  Lonsdale 

Lord  John  Manners 

Lord  Littleton 

Richard      Monckton      Milnes     (Lord 

Houghton ) 
Lady  Jersey 
Sir  Charles  Shackerley 
Mrs.   Mountjoy  Martin 


(ix) 


TANCRED 


OR 


THE    NEW    CRUSADE 


CHAPTER    I. 

A  Matter  of  Importance. 

THAT  part  of  the  celebrated  parish 
of  St.  George  which  is  bounded 
on  one  side  by  Piccadilly  and  on 
the  other  by  Curzon  Street,  is  a 
district  of  a  peculiar  character.  'Tis 
cluster  of  small  streets  of  little 
houses,  frequently  intersected  by  mews,  which  here 
are  numerous,  and  sometimes  gradually,  rather  than 
abruptly,  terminating  in  a  ramification  of  those  mys- 
terious regions.  Sometimes  a  group  of  courts  develops 
itself,  and  you  may  even  chance  to  find  your  way 
into  a  small  market-place.  Those,  however,  who  are 
accustomed  to  connect  these  hidden  residences  of  the 
humble  with  scenes  of  misery  and  characters  of  vio- 
lence, need  not  apprehend  in  this  district  any  appeal 
to  their  sympathies,  or  any  shock  to  their  tastes.     All 

(>) 


2  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

is  extremely  genteel;  and  there  is  almost  as  much  re- 
pose as  in  the  golden  saloons  of  the  contiguous  palaces. 
At  any  rate,  if  there  be  as  much  vice,  there  is  as 
little  crime. 

No  sight  or  sound  can  be  seen  or  heard  at  any 
hour,  which  could  pain  the  most  precise  or  the  most 
fastidious.  Even  if  a  chance  oath  may  float  on  the 
air  from  the  stable-yard  to  the  lodging  of  a  French 
cook,  'tis  of  the  newest  fashion,  and,  if  responded  to 
with  less  of  novel  charm,  the  repartee  is  at  least  con- 
veyed in  the  language  of  the  most  polite  of  nations. 
They  bet  upon  the  Derby  in  these  parts  a  little,  are 
interested  in  Goodwood,  which  they  frequent,  have 
perhaps,  in  general,  a  weakness  for  play,  live  highly, 
and  indulge  those  passions  which  luxury  and  refine- 
ment encourage;  but  that  is  all. 

A  policeman  would  as  soon  think  of  reconnoitring 
these  secluded  streets  as  of  walking  into  a  house  in 
Park  Lane  or  Berkeley  Square,  to  which,  in  fact,  this 
population  in  a  great  measure  belongs.  For  here  re- 
side the  wives  of  house-stewards  and  of  butlers,  in 
tenements  furnished  by  the  honest  savings  of  their 
husbands,  and  let  in  lodgings  to  increase  their  swell- 
ing incomes;  here  dwells  the  retired  servant,  who 
now  devotes  his  practised  energies  to  the  occasional 
festival,  which,  with  his  accumulations  in  the  three 
per  cents.,  or  in  one  of  the  public-houses  of  the 
quarter,  secures  him  at  the  same  time  an  easy  living, 
and  the  casual  enjoyment  of  that  great  world  which 
lingers  in  his  memory.  Here  may  be  found  his  grace's 
coachman,  and  here  his  lordship's  groom,  who  keeps 
a  book  and  bleeds  periodically  too  speculative  foot- 
men, by  betting  odds  on  his  master's  horses.  But, 
above    all,  it  is   in   this   district   that   the   cooks  have 


TANCRED  3 

ever  sought  a  favourite  and  elegant  abode.  An  air  of 
stillness  and  serenity,  of  exhausted  passions  and  sup- 
pressed emotion,  rather  than  of  sluggishness  and  of 
dullness,  distinguishes  this  quarter  during  the  day. 

When  you  turn  from  the  vitality  and  brightness  of 
Piccadilly,  the  park,  the  palace,  the  terraced  mansions, 
the  sparkling  equipages,  the  cavaliers  cantering  up  the 
hill,  the  swarming  multitude,  and  enter  the  region  of 
which  we  are  speaking,  the  effect  is  at  first  almost 
unearthly.  Not  a  carriage,  not  a  horseman,  scarcely 
a  passenger;  there  seems  some  great  and  sudden  col- 
lapse in  the  metropolitan  system,  as  if  a  pest  had  been 
announced,  or  an  enemy  were  expected  in  alarm  by 
a  vanquished  capital.  The  approach  from  Curzon 
Street  has  not  this  effect.  Hyde  Park  has  still  about 
it  something  of  Arcadia.  There  are  woods  and 
waters,  and  the  occasional  illusion  of  an  illimitable 
distance  of  sylvan  joyance.  The  spirit  is  allured  to 
gentle  thoughts  as  we  wander  in  what  is  still  really 
a  lane,  and,  turning  down  Stanhope  Street,  behold 
that  house  which  the  great  Lord  Chesterfield  tells  us, 
in  one  of  his  letters,  he  was  'building  among  the 
fields.'  The  cawing  of  the  rooks  in  his  gardens  sus- 
tains the  tone  of  mind,  and  Curzon  Street,  after  a 
long,  straggling,  sawney  course,  ceasing  to  be  a  thor- 
oughfare, and  losing  itself  in  the  gardens  of  another 
palace,  is  quite  in  keeping  with  all  the  accessories. 

In  the  night,  however,  the  quarter  of  which  we 
are  speaking  is  alive.  The  manners  of  the  popula- 
tion follow  those  of  their  masters.  They  keep  late 
hours.  The  banquet  and  the  ball  dismiss  them  to 
their  homes  at  a  time  when  the  trades  of  ordinary 
regions  move  in  their  last  sleep,  and  dream  of  open- 
ing shutters  and  decking  the  wmdows  of  their  shops. 


4  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

At  night,  the  chariot  whirls  round  the  frequent  cor- 
ners of  these  little  streets,  and  the  opening  valves  of 
the  mews  vomit  forth  their  legion  of  broughams.  At 
night,  too,  the  footman,  taking  advantage  of  a  ball  at 
Holdernesse,  or  a  concert  at  Lansdowne  House,  and 
knowing  that,  in  either  instance,  the  link-boy  will 
answer  when  necessary  for  his  summoned  name,  ven- 
tures to  look  in  at  his  club,  reads  the  paper,  talks  of 
his  master  or  his  mistress,  and  perhaps  throws  a 
main.  The  shops  of  this  district,  depending  almost 
entirely  for  their  custom  on  the  classes  we  have  in- 
dicated, and  kept  often  by  their  relations,  follow  the 
order  of  the  place,  and  are  most  busy  when  other 
places  of  business  are  closed. 

A  gusty  March  morning  had  subsided  into  a  sun- 
shiny afternoon,  nearly  two  years  ago,  when  a  young 
man,  slender,  above  the  middle  height,  with  a  physi- 
ognomy thoughtful  yet  delicate,  his  brown  hair  worn 
long,  slight  whiskers,  on  his  chin  a  tuft,  knocked  at 
the  door  of  a  house  in  Carrington  Street,  May  Fair. 
His  mien  and  his  costume  denoted  a  character  of  the 
class  of  artists.  He  wore  a  pair  of  green  trousers, 
braided  with  a  black  stripe  down  their  sides,  puck- 
ered towards  the  waist,  yet  fitting  with  considerable 
precision  to  the  boot  of  French  leather  that  enclosed 
a  well-formed  foot.  His  waistcoat  was  of  maroon 
velvet,  displaying  a  steel  watch-chain  of  refined  manu- 
facture, and  a  black  satin  cravat,  with  a  coral 
brooch.  His  bright  blue  frockcoat  was  frogged  and 
braided  like  his  trousers.  As  the  knocker  fell  from 
the  primrose-coloured  glove  that  screened  his  hand, 
he  uncovered,  and  passing  his  fingers  rapidly  through 
his  hair,  resumed  his  new  silk  hat,  which  he  placed 
rather  on  one  side  of  his  head. 


TANCRED  5 

'Ah!  Mr.  Leander,  is  it  you?'  exclaimed  a  pretty 
girl,  who  opened  the  door  and  blushed. 

'And  how  is  the  good  papa,  Eugenie?  Is  he  at 
home?     For  I  want  to  see  him  much.' 

'  I  will  show  you  up  to  him  at  once,  Mr.  Leander, 
for  he  will  be  very  happy  to  see  you.  We  have 
been  thinking  of  hearing  of  you,'  she  added,  talking 
as  she  ushered  her  guest  up  the  narrow  staircase. 
'The  good  papa  has  a  little  cold:  'tis  not  much,  I 
hope;  caught  at  Sir  Wallinger's,  a  large  dinner;  they 
would  have  the  kitchen  windows  open,  which  spoilt 
all  the  entrees,  and  papa  got  a  cold;  but  I  think,  per- 
haps, it  is  as  much  vexation  as  anything  else,  you 
know  if  anything  goes  wrong,  especially  with  the 
entrees ' 

'He  feels  as  a  great  artist  must,'  said  Leander, 
finishing  her  sentence.  'However,  I  am  not  sorry  at 
this  moment  to  find  him  a  prisoner,  for  I  am  pressed 
to  see  him.  It  is  only  this  morning  that  I  have  re- 
turned from  Mr.  Coningsby's  at  Hellingsley:  the  house 
full,  forty  covers  every  day,  and  some  judges.  One 
does  not  grudge  one's  labour  if  we  are  appreciated,' 
added  Leander;  'but  I  have  had  my  troubles.  One 
of  my  marmitons  has  disappointed  me:  I  thought  I 
had  a  genius,  but  on  the  third  day  he  lost  his  head; 
and  had  it  not  been  Ah!  good  papa,'  he  ex- 
claimed, as  the  door  opened,  and  he  came  forward 
and  warmly  shook  the  hand  of  a  portly  man,  ad- 
vanced in  middle  life,  sitting  in  an  easy  chair,  with  a 
glass  of  sugared  water  by  his  side,  and  reading  a 
French  newspaper  in  his  chamber  robe,  and  with 
a  white  cotton  nightcap  on  his  head. 

'Ah!  my  child,'  said  Papa  Prevost,  'is  it  you? 
You  see  me  a  prisoner;  Eugenie  has  told  you;  a  din- 


6  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

ner  at  a  merchant's;  dressed  in  a  draught;  everything 

spoiled,  and  I '  and  sighing,  Papa  Prevost   sipped 

his  eau  sucree. 

'We  have  all  our  troubles,'  said  Leander,  in  a  con- 
soling tone;  'but  we  will  not  speak  now  of  vexa- 
tions. I  have  just  come  from  the  country;  Daubuz 
has  written  to  me  twice;  he  was  at  my  house  last 
night;  I  found  him  on  my  steps  this  morning.  There 
is  a  grand  affair  on  the  tapis.  The  son  of  the  Duke 
of  Bellamont  comes  of  age  at  Easter;  it  is  to  be  a 
business  of  the  thousand  and  one  nights;  the  whole 
county  to  be  feasted.  Camacho's  wedding  will  do  for 
the  peasantry;  roasted  oxen,  and  a  capon  in  every 
platter,  with  some  fountains  of  ale  and  good  Porto. 
Our  marmitons,  too,  can  easily  serve  the  provincial 
noblesse;  but  there  is  to  be  a  party  at  the  Castle,  of 
double  cream;  princes  of  the  blood,  high  relatives  and 
grandees  of  the  Golden  Fleece.  The  duke's  cook  is 
not  equal  to  the  occasion.  'Tis  an  hereditary  chef 
who  gives  dinners  of  the  time  of  the  continental 
blockade.  They  have  written  to  Daubuz  to  send  them 
the  first  artist  of  the  age,'  said  Leander;  'and,'  added 
he,  with  some  hesitation,  '  Daubuz  has  written  to 
me,' 

'And  he  did  quite  right,  my  child,'  said  Prevost, 
'for  there  is  not  a  man  in  Europe  that  is  your  equal. 
What  do  they  say .?  That  Abreu  rivals  you  in  flavour, 
and  that  Gaillard  has  not  less  invention.  But  who  can 
combine  ^o/?/ with  new  combinations?  'Tis  yourself, 
Leander;  and  there  is  no  question,  though  you  have 
only  twenty-five  years,  that  you  are  the  chef  of  the 
age.' 

'You  are  always  very  good  to  me,  sir,'  said  Le- 
ander, bending    his    head  with    great   respect;  'and    1 


TANCRED  7 

will  not  deny  that  to  be  famous  when  you  are  young 
is  the  fortune  of  the  gods.  But  we  must  never  for- 
get that  I  had  an  advantage  which  Abreu  and  Gaillard 
had  not,  and  that  1  was  your  pupil.' 

'I  hope  that  I  have  not  injured  you,'  said  Papa 
Prevost,  with  an  air  of  proud  self-content.  'What 
you  learned  from  me  came  at  least  from  a  good  school. 
It  is  something  to  have  served  under  Napoleon,'  added 
Prevost,  with  the  grand  air  of  the  Imperial  kitchen. 
'Had  it  not  been  for  Waterloo,  I  should  have  had  the 
cross.  But  the  Bourbons  and  the  cooks  of  the  Empire 
never  could  understand  each  other.  They  brought 
over  an  emigrant  chef,  who  did  not  comprehend  the 
taste  of  the  age.  He  wished  to  bring  everything  back 
to  the  time  of  the  oeil  de  bcruf.  When  Monsieur 
passed  my  soup  of  Austerlitz  untasted,  I  knew  the  old 
family  was  doomed.  But  we  gossip.  You  wished  to 
consult  me.?' 

'I  want  not  only  your  advice  but  your  assistance. 
This  affair  of  the  Duke  of  Bellamont  requires  all  our 
energies.  I  hope  you  will  accompany  me;  and,  in- 
deed, we  must  muster  all  our  forces.  It  is  not  to  be 
denied  that  there  is  a  want,  not  only  of  genius,  but 
of  men,  in  our  art.  The  cooks  are  like  the  civil  engi- 
neers: since  the  middle  class  have  taken  to  giving 
dinners,  the  demand  exceeds  the  supply.' 

'There  is  Andrien,'  said  Papa  Prevost;  'you  had 
some  hopes  of  him.?' 

'He  is  too  young;  I  took  him  to  Hellingsley,  and 
he  lost  his  head  on  the  third  day.  I  entrusted  the 
soufflees  to  him,  and,  but  for  the  most  desperate  per- 
sonal exertions,  all  would  have  been  lost.  It  was  an 
affair  of  the  bridge  of  Areola.' 

'Ah!    mon  Dieit !   those    are    moments!'  exclaimed 

15     B.  D.— 14 


8  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

Prevost.  'Gaillard  and  Abreu  will  not  serve  under 
you,  eh?  And  if  they  would,  they  could  not  be 
trusted.     They  would  betray  you  at  the   tenth   hour.' 

*  What  I  want  are  generals  of  division,  not  com- 
manders-in-chief. Abreu  is  suificiently  bon  gargon, 
but  he  has  taken  an  engagement  with  Monsieur  de 
Sidonia,  and  is  not  permitted  to  go  out.' 

'With  Monsieur  de  Sidonia!  You  once  thought  of 
that,  my  Leander.     And  what  is  his  salary.?' 

'Not  too  much;  four  hundred  and  some  perqui- 
sites. It  would  not  suit  me;  besides,  I  will  take  no 
engagement  but  with  a  crowned  head.  But  Abreu 
likes  travelling,  and  he  has  his  own  carriage,  which 
pleases  him.' 

'There  are  Philippon  and  Dumoreau,'  said  Prevost; 
'they  are  very  safe.' 

'I  was  thinking  of  them,'  said  Leander,  'they  are 
safe,  under  you.  And  there  is  an  Englishman,  Smit, 
he  is  chef  at  Sir  Stanley's,  but  his  master  is  away  at 
this  moment.     He  has  talent.' 

'Yourself,  four  chefs,  with  your  marmitons;  it 
would  do,'  said  Prevost. 

'For  the  kitchen,'  said  Leander;  'but  who  is  to 
dress  the  tables?' 

'A — hi'  exclaimed  Papa  Prevost,  shaking  his  head. 

'Daubuz'  head  man,  Trenton,  is  the  only  one  I 
could  trust;  and  he  wants  fancy,  though  his  style  is 
broad  and  bold.  He  made  a  pyramid  of  pines  re- 
lieved with  grapes,  without  destroying  the  outline, 
very  good,  this  last  week,  at  Hellingsley.  But  Tren- 
ton has  been  upset  on  the  railroad,  and  much  injured. 
Even  if  he  recover,  his  hand  will  tremble  so  for  the 
next  month  that  I  could    have  no  confidence  in  him.' 

'Perhaps  you  might  find  some  one  at  the  Duke's?' 


TANCRED  9 

'Out  of  the  question!'  said  Leander;  M  make  it 
always  a  condition  that  the  head  of  every  department 
shall  be  appointed  by  myself.  I  take  Pellerini  with 
me  for  the  confectionery.  How  often  have  I  seen  the 
effect  of  a  first-rate  dinner  spoiled  by  a  vulgar  dessert! 
laid  flat  on  the  table,  for  example,  or  with  ornaments 
that  look  as  if  they  had  been  hired  at  a  pastrycook's: 
triumphal  arches,  and  Chinese  pagodas,  and  solitary 
pines  springing  up  out  of  ice-tubs  surrounded  with 
peaches,  as  if  they  were  in  the  window  of  a  fruiterer 
of  Covent  Garden.' 

*Ah!  it  is  incredible  what  uneducated  people  will 
do,'  said  Prevost.  'The  dressing  of  the  tables  was  a 
department  of  itself  in  the  Imperial  kitchen.' 

'It  demands  an  artist  of  a  high  calibre,'  said  Le- 
ander. '  I  know  only  one  man  who  realises  my  idea, 
and  he  is  at  St.  Petersburg.  You  do  not  know 
Anastase  ?  There  is  a  man!  But  the  Emperor  has 
him  secure.  He  can  scarcely  complain,  however,  since 
he  is  decorated,  and  has  the  rank  of  full  colonel.' 

'Ah!'  said  Prevost,  mournfully,  'there  is  no  rec- 
ognition of  genius  in  this  country.  What  think  you 
of  Vanesse,  my  child  ?  He  has  had  a  regular  educa- 
tion.' 

'In  a  bad  school:  as  a  pis  aller  one  might  put  up 
with  him.  But  his  eternal  tiers  of  bonbons!  As  if 
they  were  ranged  for  a  supper  of  the  Carnival,  and 
my  guests  were  going  to  pelt  each  other!  No,  I 
could  not  stand  Vanesse,  papa.' 

'The  dressing  of  the  table:  'tis  a  rare  talent,'  said 
Prevost,  mournfully,  'and  always  was.  In  the  Irn- 
perial  kitchen ' 

'Papa,'  said  Eugenie,  opening  the  door,  and  put- 
ting   in    her    head,    'here    is  Monsieur    Vanillette   just 


lo  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

come  from  Brussels.  He  has  brought  you  a  basket 
of  truffles  from  Ardennes.  I  told  him  you  were  on 
business,  but  to-night,  if  you  be  at  home,  he  could 
come.' 

'  Vanillette!'  exclaimed  Prevost,  starting  in  his 
chair,  'our  little  Vanillette!  There  is  your  man,  Le- 
ander.  He  was  my  first  pupil,  as  you  were  my  last, 
my  child.  Bring  up  our  little  Vanillette,  Eugenie. 
He  is  in  the  household  of  King  Leopold,  and  his  forte 
is  dressing  the  table!' 


CHAPTER    II. 


The  House  of  Bellamont. 

HE  Duke  of  Bellamont  was  a  per- 
sonage who,  from  his  rank,  his 
blood,  and  his  wealth,  might  almost 
be  placed  at  the  head  of  the  En- 
glish nobility.  Although  the  grand- 
son of  a  mere  country  gentleman,  his 
fortunate  ancestor,  in  the  decline  of  the  last  century, 
had  captivated  the  heiress  of  the  Montacutes,  Dukes 
of  Bellamont,  a  celebrated  race  of  the  times  of  the 
Plantagenets.  The  bridegroom,  at  the  moment  of  his 
marriage,  had  adopted  the  illustrious  name  of  his 
young  and  beautiful  wife.  Mr.  Montacute  was  by 
nature  a  man  of  energy  and  of  an  enterprising  spirit. 
His  vast  and  early  success  rapidly  developed  his  na- 
tive powers.  With  the  castles  and  domains  and 
boroughs  of  the  Bellamonts,  he  resolved  also  to  ac- 
quire their  ancient  baronies  and  their  modern  coronets. 
The  times  were  favourable  to  his  projects,  though 
they  might  require  the  devotion  of  a  life.  He  married 
amid  the  disasters  of  the  American  war.  The  king 
and  his  minister  appreciated  the  independent  support 
afforded  them  by  Mr.  Montacute,  who  represented  his 
county,  and  who  commanded  five  votes  in  the  House 


12  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

besides  his  own.  He  was  one  of  the  chief  pillars  of 
their  cause;  but  he  was  not  only  independent,  he  was 
conscientious  and  had  scruples.  Saratoga  staggered 
him.  The  defection  of  the  Montacute  votes,  at  this 
moment,  would  have  at  once  terminated  the  struggle 
between  England  and  her  colonies.  A  fresh  illustra- 
tion of  the  advantages  of  our  parliamentary  consti- 
tution! The  independent  Mr.  Montacute,  however, 
stood  by  his  sovereign;  his  five  votes  continued  to 
cheer  the  noble  lord  in  the  blue  ribbon,  and  their 
master  took  his  seat  and  the  oaths  in  the  House  of 
Lords,  as  Earl  of  Bellamont  and  Viscount  Montacute. 
This  might  be  considered  sufficiently  well  for  one 
generation;  but  the  silver  spoon  which  some  fairy  had 
placed  in  the  cradle  of  the  Earl  of  Bellamont  was  of 
colossal  proportions.  The  French  Revolution  suc- 
ceeded the  American  war,  and  was  occasioned  by  it. 
It  was  but  just,  therefore,  that  it  also  should  bring 
its  huge  quota  to  the  elevation  of  the  man  whom  a 
colonial  revolt  had  made  an  earl.  Amid  the  panic  of 
Jacobinism,  the  declamations  of  the  friends  of  the 
people,  the  sovereign  having  no  longer  Hanover  for  a 
refuge,  and  the  prime  minister  examined  as  a  witness 
in  favour  of  the  very  persons  whom  he  was  trying  for 
high  treason,  the  Earl  of  Bellamont  made  a  calm  visit 
to  Downing  Street,  and  requested  the  revival  of  all 
the  honours  of  the  ancient  Earls  and  Dukes  of  Bella- 
mont in  his  own  person.  Mr.  Pitt,  who  was  far 
from  favourable  to  the  exclusive  character  which  dis- 
tinguished the  English  peerage  in  the  last  century, 
was  himself  not  disinclined  to  accede  to  the  gentle 
request  of  his  powerful  supporter;  but  the  king  was 
less  flexible.  His  Majesty,  indeed,  was  on  principle 
not    opposed    to    the    revival    of  titles    in    families   to 


TANCRED  13 

whom  the  domains  without  the  honours  of  the  old 
nobility  had  descended;  and  he  recognised  the  claim 
of  the  present  Earls  of  Bellamont  eventually  to  regain 
the  strawberry  leaf  which  had  adorned  the  coronet  of 
the  father  of  the  present  countess.  But  the  king  was 
of  opinion  that  this  supreme  distinction  ought  only  to 
be  conferred  on  the  blood  of  the  old  house,  and  that 
a  generation,  therefore,  must  necessarily  elapse  before 
a  Duke  of  Bellamont  could  again  figure  in  the  golden 
book  of  the  English  aristocracy. 

But  George  the  Third,  with  all  his  firmness,  was 
doomed  to  frequent  discomfiture.  His  lot  was  cast  in 
troubled  waters,  and  he  had  often  to  deal  with 
individuals  as  inflexible  as  himself.  Benjamin  Franklin 
was  not  more  calmly  contumacious  than  the  individual 
whom  his  treason  had  made  an  English  peer.  In 
that  age  of  violence,  change  and  panic,  power,  directed 
by  a  clear  brain  and  an  obdurate  spirit,  could  not  fail 
of  its  aim;  and  so  it  turned  out,  that,  in  the  very 
teeth  of  the  royal  will,  the  simple  country  gentleman, 
whose  very  name  was  forgotten,  became,  at  the  com- 
mencement of  this  century,  Duke  of  Bellamont,  Mar- 
quis of  Montacute,  Earl  of  Bellamont,  Dacre,  and 
Villeroy,  with  all  the  baronies  of  the  Plantagenets  in 
addition.  The  only  revenge  of  the  king  was,  that  he 
never  would  give  the  Duke  of  Bellamont  the  garter. 
It  was  as  well  perhaps  that  there  should  be  some- 
thing for  his  son  to  desire. 

The  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Bellamont  were  the 
handsomest  couple  in  England,  and  devoted  to  each 
other,  but  they  had  only  one  child.  Fortunately,  that 
child  was  a  son.  Precious  life!  The  Marquis  of 
Montacute  was  married  before  he  was  of  age.  Not 
a  moment  was  to  be  lost  to   find   heirs   for   all   these 


14  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

honours.  Perhaps,  had  his  parents  been  less  precipi- 
tate, their  object  might  have  been  more  securely  ob- 
tained. The  union  was  not  a  happy  one.  The  first 
duke  had,  however,  the  gratification  of  dying  a  grand- 
father. His  successor  bore  no  resemblance  to  him, 
except  in  that  beauty  which  became  a  characteristic 
of  the  race.  He  was  born  to  enjoy,  not  to  create. 
A  man  of  pleasure,  the  chosen  companion  of  the  Re- 
gent in  his  age  of  riot,  he  was  cut  off  in  his  prime; 
but  he  lived  long  enough  to  break  his  wife's  heart 
and  his  son's  spirit;  like  himself,  too,  an  only  child. 

The  present  Duke  of  Bellamont  had  inherited  some- 
thing of  the  clear  intelligence  of  his  grandsire,  with 
the  gentle  disposition  of  his  mother.  His  fair  abili- 
ties, and  his  benevolent  inclinations,  had  been  culti- 
vated. His  mother  had  watched  over  the  child,  in 
whom  she  found  alike  the  charm  and  consolation  of 
her  life.  But,  at  a  certain  period  of  youth,  the  for- 
mation of  character  requires  a  masculine  impulse,  and 
that  was  wanting.  The  duke  disliked  his  son;  in 
time  he  became  even  jealous  of  him.  The  duke  had 
found  himself  a  father  at  too  early  a  period  of  life. 
Himself  in  his  lusty  youth,  he  started  with  alarm  at 
the  form  that  recalled  his  earliest  and  most  brilliant 
hour,  and  who  might  prove  a  rival.  The  son  was  of 
a  gentle  and  affectionate  nature,  and  sighed  for  the 
tenderness  of  his  harsh  and  almost  vindictive  parent. 
But  he  had  not  that  passionate  soul  which  might 
have  appealed,  and  perhaps  not  in  vain,  to  the  dor- 
mant sympathies  of  the  being  who  had  created  him. 
The  young  Montacute  was  by  nature  of  an  extreme 
shyness,  and  the  accidents  of  his  life  had  not  tended 
to  dissipate  his  painful  want  of  self-confidence.  Phys- 
ically   courageous,    his    moral    timidity    was    remark- 


TANCRED  15 

able.  He  alternately  blushed  or  grew  pale  in  his  rare 
interviews  with  his  father,  trembled  in  silence  before 
the  undeserved  sarcasm,  and  often  endured  the  unjust 
accusation  without  an  attempt  to  vindicate  himself. 
Alone,  and  in  tears  alike  of  woe  and  indignation,  he 
cursed  the  want  of  resolution  or  ability  which  had 
again  missed  the  opportunity  that,  both  for  his  mother 
and  himself,  might  have  placed  affairs  in  a  happier 
position.  Most  persons,  under  these  circumstances, 
would  have  become  bitter,  but  Montacute  was  too 
tender  for  malice,  and  so  he  only  turned  melancholy. 
On  the  threshold  of  manhood,  Montacute  lost  his 
mother,  and  this  seemed  the  catastrophe  of  his  un- 
happy life.  His  father  neither  shared  his  grief,  nor 
attempted  to  alleviate  it.  On  the  contrary,  he  seemed 
to  redouble  his  efforts  to  mortify  his  son.  His  great 
object  was  to  prevent  Lord  Montacute  from  entering 
society,  and  he  was  so  complete  a  master  of  the 
nervous  temperament  on  which  he  was  acting  that 
there  appeared  a  fair  chance  of  his  succeeding  in  his 
benevolent  intentions.  When  his  son's  education  was 
completed,  the  duke  would  not  furnish  him  with  the 
means  of  moving  in  the  world  in  a  becoming  man- 
ner, or  even  sanction  his  travelling.  His  Grace  was 
resolved  to  break  his  son's  spirit  by  keeping  him  im- 
mured in  the  country.  Other  heirs  apparent  of  a  rich 
seignory  would  soon  have  removed  these  difficulties. 
By  bill  or  by  bond,  by  living  usury,  or  by  post-obit 
liquidation,  by  all  the  means  that  private  friends  or 
public  offices  could  supply,  the  sinews  of  war  would 
have  been  forthcoming.  They  would  have  beaten 
their  fathers'  horses  at  Newmarket,  eclipsed  them 
with  their  mistresses,  and,  sitting  for  their  boroughs, 
voted    against   their    party.     But    Montacute   was   not 


1 6  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

one  of  those  young  heroes  who  rendered  so  distin- 
guished the  earlier  part  of  this  century.  He  had  passed 
his  life  so  much  among  women  and  clergymen  that 
he  had  never  emancipated  himself  from  the  old  law 
that  enjoined  him  to  honour  a  parent.  Besides,  with 
all  his  shyness  and  timidity,  he  was  extremely  proud. 
He  never  forgot  that  he  was  a  Montacute,  though  he 
had  forgotten,  like  the  world  in  general,  that  his 
grandfather  once  bore  a  different  and  humbler  name. 
All  merged  in  the  great  fact,  that  he  was  the  living 
representative  of  those  Montacutes  of  Bellamont,  whose 
wild  and  politic  achievements,  or  the  sustained  splen- 
dour of  whose  stately  life  had  for  seven  hundred 
years  formed  a  stirring  and  superb  portion  of  the  his- 
tory and  manners  of  our  country.  Death  was  prefer- 
able, in  his  view,  to  having  such  a  name  soiled  in 
the  haunts  of  jockeys  and  courtesans  and  usurers; 
and,  keen  as  was  the  anguish  which  the  conduct  of 
the  duke  to  his  mother  or  himself  had  often  occa- 
sioned him,  it  was  sometimes  equalled  in  degree  by 
the  sorrow  and  the  shame  which  he  endured  when 
he  heard  of  the  name  of  Bellamont  only  in  connection 
with  some  stratagem  of  the  turf  or  some  frantic  revel. 
Without  a  friend,  almost  without  an  acquaintance, 
Montacute  sought  refuge  in  love.  She  who  shed  over 
his  mournful  life  the  divine  ray  of  feminine  sympathy 
was  his  cousin,  the  daughter  of  his  mother's  brother, 
an  English  peer,  but  resident  in  the  north  of  Ireland, 
where  he  had  vast  possessions.  It  was  a  family  oth- 
erwise little  calculated  to  dissipate  the  reserve  and 
gloom  of  a  depressed  and  melancholy  youth;  puritan- 
ical, severe  and  formal  in  their  manners,  their  relaxa- 
tions a  Bible  Society,  or  a  meeting  for  the  conversion 
of  the  Jews.     But  Lady  Katherine  was  beautiful,    and 


TANCRED  17 

all  were  kind  to  one  to  whom  kindness  was  strange, 
and  the  soft  pathos  of  whose  solitary  spirit  demanded 
affection. 

Montacute  requested  his  father's  permission  to 
marry  his  cousin,  and  was  immediately  refused.  The 
duke  particularly  disliked  his  wife's  family;  but  the 
fact  is,  he  had  no  wish  that  his  son  should  ever 
marry.  He  meant  to  perpetuate  his  race  himself,  and 
was  at  this  moment,  in  the  midst  of  his  orgies,  med- 
itating a  second  alliance,  which  should  compensate 
him  for  his  boyish  blunder.  In  this  state  of  affairs, 
Montacute,  at  length  stung  to  resistance,  inspired  by 
the  most  powerful  of  passions,  and  acted  upon  by  a 
stronger  volition  than  his  own,  was  planning  a  mar- 
riage in  spite  of  his  father  (love,  a  cottage  by  an 
Irish  lake,  and  seven  hundred  a-year)  when  intelli- 
gence arrived  that  his  father,  whose  powerful  frame 
and  vigorous  health  seemed  to  menace  a  patriarchal 
term,  was  dead. 

The  new  Duke  of  Bellamont  had  no  experience  of 
the  world;  but,  though  long  cowed  by  his  father,  he 
had  a  strong  character.  Though  the  circle  of  his  ideas 
was  necessarily  contracted,  they  were  all  clear  and 
firm.  In  his  moody  youth  he  had  imbibed  certain 
impressions  and  arrived  at  certain  conclusions,  and 
they  never  quitted  him.  His  mother  was  his  model 
of  feminine  perfection,  and  he  had  loved  his  cousin 
because  she  bore  a  remarkable  resemblance  to  her 
aunt.  Again,  he  was  of  opinion  that  the  tie  between 
the  father  and  the  son  ought  to  be  one  of  intimate 
confidence  and  refined  tenderness,  and  he  resolved 
that,  if  Providence  favoured  him  with  offspring,  his 
child  should  ever  find  in  him  absolute  devotion  of 
thought  and  feeling. 


i8  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

A  variety  of  causes  and  circumstances  had  im- 
pressed him  with  a  conviction  that  what  is  called 
fashionable  life  was  a  compound  of  frivolity  and  fraud, 
of  folly  and  vice;  and  he  resolved  never  to  enter  it. 
To  this  he  was,  perhaps,  in  some  degree  uncon- 
sciously prompted  by  his  reserved  disposition,  and  by 
his  painful  sense  of  inexperience,  for  he  looked  for- 
ward to  this  world  with  almost  as  much  of  appre- 
hension as  of  dislike.  To  politics,  in  the  vulgar 
sense  of  the  word,  he  had  an  equal  repugnance.  He 
had  a  lofty  idea  of  his  duty  to  his  sovereign  and  his 
country,  and  felt  within  him  the  energies  that  would 
respond  to  a  conjuncture.  But  he  acceded  to  his 
title  in  a  period  of  calmness,  when  nothing  was 
called  in  question,  and  no  danger  was  apprehended; 
and  as  for  the  fights  of  factions,  the  duke  altogether 
held  himself  aloof  from  them;  he  wanted  nothing,  not 
even  the  blue  ribbon  which  he  was  soon  obliged  to 
take.  Next  to  his  domestic  hearth,  all  his  being  was 
concentrated  in  his  duties  as  a  great  proprietor  of  the 
soil.  On  these  he  had  long  pondered,  and  these  he 
attempted  to  fulfil.  That  performance,  indeed,  was 
as  much  a  source  of  delight  to  him  as  of  obligation. 
He  loved  the  country  and  a  country  life.  His  reserve 
seemed  to  melt  away  the  moment  he  was  on  his  own 
soil.  Courteous  he  ever  was,  but  then  he  became 
gracious  and  hearty.  He  liked  to  assemble  *  the 
county'  around  him;  to  keep  'the  county'  together; 
'the  county'  seemed  always  his  first  thought;  he 
was  proud  of  'the  county,'  where  he  reigned  su- 
preme, not  more  from  his  vast  possessions  than  from 
the  influence  of  his  sweet  yet  stately  character,  which 
made  those  devoted  to  him  who  otherwise  were  in- 
dependent of  his  sway. 


TANCRED  19 

From  straitened  circumstances,  and  without  hav- 
ing had  a  single  fancy  of  youth  gratified,  the  Duke  of 
Bellamont  had  been  suddenly  summoned  to  the  lord- 
ship of  an  estate  scarcely  inferior  in  size  and  revenue 
to  some  continental  principalities;  to  dwell  in  pal- 
aces and  castles,  to  be  surrounded  by  a  disciplined 
retinue,  and  to  find  every  wish  and  want  gratified 
before  they  could  be  expressed  or  anticipated.  Yet 
he  showed  no  elation,  and  acceded  to  his  inheritance 
as  serene  as  if  he  had  never  felt  a  pang  or  proved  a 
necessity.  She  whom  in  the  hour  of  trial  he  had 
selected  for  the  future  partner  of  his  life,  though  a 
remarkable  woman,  by  a  singular  coincidence  of  feel- 
ing, for  it  was  as  much  from  her  original  character  as 
from  sympathy  with  her  husband,  confirmed  him  in 
all  his  moods. 

Katherine,  Duchess  of  Bellamont,  was  beautiful: 
small  and  delicate  in  structure,  with  a  dazzling  com- 
plexion, and  a  smile  which,  though  rare,  was  of  the 
most  winning  and  brilliant  character.  Her  rich  brown 
hair  and  her  deep  blue  eye  might  have  become  a 
dryad;  but  her  brow  denoted  intellect  of  a  high  or- 
der, and  her  mouth  spoke  inexorable  resolution.  She 
was  a  woman  of  fixed  opinions,  and  of  firm  and 
compact  prejudices.  Brought  up  in  an  austere  circle, 
where  on  all  matters  irrevocable  judgment  had  been 
passed,  which  enjoyed  the  advantages  of  knowing 
exactly  what  was  true  in  dogma,  what  just  in 
conduct,  and  what  correct  in  manners,  she  had  early 
acquired  the  convenient  habit  of  decision,  while  her 
studious  mind  employed  its  considerable  energies  in 
mastering  every  writer  who  favoured  those  opinions 
which  she  had  previously  determined  were  the  right 
ones. 


20  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

The  duchess  was  deep  in  the  divinity  of  the 
seventeenth  century.  In  the  controversies  betv/een 
the  two  churches,  she  could  have  perplexed  St. 
Omers  or  Maynooth.  ChilUngworth  might  be  found 
her  boudoir.  Not  that  her  Grace's  reading  was  con- 
fined to  divinity;  on  the  contrary,  it  was  various  and 
extensive.  Puritan  in  religion,  she  was  precisian  in 
morals;  but  in  both  she  was  sincere.  She  was  so  in 
all  things.  Her  nature  was  frank  and  simple;  if  she 
were  inflexible,  she  at  least  wished  to  be  just;  and 
though  very  conscious  of  the  greatness  of  her  posi- 
tion, she  was  so  sensible  of  its  duties  that  there  was 
scarcely  any  exertion  which  she  would  evade,  or 
any  humility  from  which  she  would  shrink,  if  she 
believed  she  were  doing  her  duty  to  her  God  or  to 
her  neighbour. 

It  will  be  seen,  therefore,  that  the  Duke  of  Bella- 
mont  found  no  obstacle  in  his  wife,  who  otherwise 
much  influenced  his  conduct,  to  the  plans  which  he 
had  pre-conceived  for  the  conduct  of  his  life  after 
marriage.  The  duchess  shrank,  with  a  feeling  of 
haughty  terror  from  that  world  of  fashion  which 
would  have  so  willingly  greeted  her.  During  the 
greater  part  of  the  year,  therefore,  the  Bellamonts  re- 
sided in  their  magnificent  castle,  in  their  distant 
county,  occupied  with  all  the  business  and  the  pleasures 
of  the  provinces.  While  the  duke,  at  the  head  of  the 
magistracy,  in  the  management  of  his  estates,  and  in 
the  sports  of  which  he  was  fond,  found  ample  occu- 
pation, his  wife  gave  an  impulse  to  the  charity  of 
the  county,  founded  schools,  endowed  churches,  re- 
ceived their  neighbours,  read  her  books,  and  amused 
herself  in  the  creation  of  beautiful  gardens,  for  which 
she  had  a  passion. 


TANCRED  21 

After  Easter,  Parliament  requiring  their  presence, 
the  courtyard  of  one  of  the  few  palaces  in  London 
opened,  and  the  world  learnt  that  the  Duke  and 
Duchess  of  Bellamont  had  arrived  at  Bellamont  House, 
from  Montacute  Castle.  During  their  stay  in  town, 
which  they  made  as  brief  as  they  well  could,  and 
which  never  exceeded  three  months,  they  gave  a 
series  of  great  dinners,  principally  attended  by  noble 
relations  and  those  families  of  the  county  who  were 
so  fortunate  as  to  have  also  a  residence  in  London. 
Regularly  every  year,  also,  there  was  a  grand  ban- 
quet given  to  some  members  of  the  royal  family  by 
the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Bellamont,  and  regularly 
every  year  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Bellamont  had 
the  honour  of  dining  at  the  palace.  Except  at  a  ball 
or  concert  under  the  royal  roof,  the  duke  and  duchess 
were  never  seen  anywhere  in  the  evening.  The  great 
ladies  indeed,  the  Lady  St.  Julians  and  the  Mar- 
chionesses of  Deloraine,  always  sent  them  invitations, 
though  they  were  ever  declined.  But  the  Bellamonts 
maintained  a  sort  of  traditional  acquaintance  with  a 
few  great  houses,  either  by  the  ties  of  relationship, 
which,  among  the  aristocracy,  are  very  ramified,  or 
by  occasionally  receiving  travelling  magnificoes  at 
their  hospitable  castle. 

To  the  great  body,  however,  of  what  is  called 
'the  world,'  the  world  that  lives  in  St.  James'  Street 
and  Pall  Mall,  that  looks  out  of  a  club  window,  and 
surveys  mankind  as  Lucretius  from  his  philosophic 
tower;  the  world  of  the  Georges  and  the  Jemmys;  of 
Mr.  Cassilis  and  Mr.  Melton;  of  the  Milfords  and  the 
Fitz-Herons,  the  Berners  and  the  Egertons,  the  Mr. 
Ormsbys  and  the  Alfred  Mountchesneys,  the  Duke 
and  Duchess  of  Bellamont  were  absolutely  unknown. 


22  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

All  that  the  world  knew  was,  that  there  was  a  great 
peer  who  was  called  Duke  of  Bellamont;  that  there 
was  a  great  house  in  London,  with  a  courtyard, 
which  bore  his  name;  that  he  had  a  castle  in  the 
country,  which  was  one  of  the  boasts  of  England; 
and  that  this  great  duke  had  a  duchess;  but  they 
never  met  them  anywhere,  nor  did  their  wives  and 
their  sisters,  and  the  ladies  whom  they  admired,  or 
who  admired  them,  either  at  ball  or  at  breakfast, 
either  at  morning  dances  or  at  evening  dejeuners.  It 
was  clear,  therefore,  that  the  Bellamonts  might  be 
very  great  people,  but  they  were  not  in  'society.' 

It  must  have  been  some  organic  law,  or  some  fate 
which  uses  structure  for  its  fulfilment,  but  again  it 
seemed  that  the  continuance  of  the  great  house  of 
Montacute  should  depend  upon  the  life  of  a  single 
being.  The  duke,  like  his  father  and  his  grandfather, 
was  favoured  only  with  one  child,  but  that  child  was 
again  a  son.  From  the  moment  of  his  birth,  the  very 
existence  of  his  parents  seemed  identified  with  his 
welfare.  The  duke  and  his  wife  mutually  assumed  to 
each  other  a  secondary  position,  in  comparison  with 
that  occupied  by  their  offspring.  From  the  hour  of 
his  birth  to  the  moment  when  this  history  opens, 
and  when  he  was  about  to  complete  his  majority, 
never  had  such  solicitude  been  lavished  on  human 
being  as  had  been  continuously  devoted  to  the  life  of 
the  young  Lord  Montacute.  During  his  earlier  educa- 
tion he  scarcely  quitted  home.  He  had,  indeed,  once 
been  shown  to  Eton,  surrounded  by  faithful  domestics, 
and  accompanied  by  a  private  tutor,  whose  vigilance 
would  not  have  disgraced  a  superintendent  of  police; 
but  the  scarlet  fever  happened  to  break  out  during 
his    first    half,    and     Lord     Montacute    was     instantly 


TANCRED 


23 


snatched  away  from  the  scene  of  danger,  where  he 
was  never  again  to  appear.  At  eighteen  he  went  to 
Christ-church.  His  mother,  who  had  nursed  him  her- 
self, wrote  to  him  every  day;  but  this  was  not  found 
sufficient,  and  the  duke  hired  a  residence  in  the 
neighourhood  of  the  university,  in  order  that  they 
might  occasionally  see  their  son  during  term. 


CHAPTER    III. 
A  Discussion  about  Money. 

AW  Eskdale  just  now,'  said  Mr.  Cas- 
silis,  at   White's,    'going   down   to 
the    Duke    of    Bellamont's.      Great 
doings   there:    son    comes   of  age 
at  Easter.     Wonder   what  sort    of 
fellow  he  is  ?    Anybody  know  any- 
thing about  him.?' 

*I  wonder  what  his  father's  rent-roll  is?'  said  Mr. 
Ormsby. 

'They  say  it  is  quite  clear,'  said   Lord  Fitz-Heron. 
'Safe  for  that,'  said    Lord    Milford;    'and  plenty  of 
ready  money,  too,  I  should  think,  for  one  never  heard 
of  the  present  duke  doing  anything.' 

'He  does  a  good  deal  in  his  county,'  said  Lord 
Valentine. 

'I  don't  call  that  anything,'  said  Lord  Milford; 
'but  I  mean  to  say  he  never  played,  was  never  seen 
at  Newmarket,  or  did  anything  which  anybody  can 
remember.  In  fact,  he  is  a  person  whose  name  you 
never  by  any  chance  hear  mentioned.' 

'He  is  a  sort  of  cousin  of  mine,'  said  Lord  Valen- 
tine;   'and  we  are  all  going  down   to  the  coming  of 
age:  that  is,  we  are  asked.' 
(24) 


TANCRED  25 

'Then  you  can  tell  us  what  sort  of  fellow  the 
son  is.' 

'I  never  saw  him,'  said  Lord  Valentine;  'but  I 
know  the  duchess  told  my  mother  last  year,  that 
Montacute,  throughout  his  life,  had  never  occasioned 
her  a  single  moment's  pain.' 

Here  there  was  a  general  laugh. 

'Well,  I  have  no  doubt  he  will  make  up  for  lost 
time,'  said  Mr.  Ormsby,  demurely. 

'Nothing  like  mamma's  darling  for  upsetting  a 
coach,'  said  Lord  Milford.  'You  ought  to  bring  your 
cousin  here,  Valentine;  we  would  assist  the  develop- 
ment of  his  unsophisticated  intelligence.' 

'If  I  go  down,  I  will  propose  it  to  him.' 

'Why  if.?'  said  Mr.  Cassilis;  'sort  of  thing  I  should 
like  to  see  once  uncommonly:  oxen  roasted  alive,  old 
armour,  and  the  girls  of  the  village  all  running  about 
as  if  they  were  behind  the  scenes.' 

'Is  that  the  way  you  did  it  at  your  majority, 
George?'  said  Lord  Fitz-Heron. 

'Egad!  I  kept  my  arrival  at  years  of  discretion 
at  Brighton.  I  believe  it  was  the  last  fun  there 
ever  was  at  the  Pavilion.  The  poor  dear  king,  God 
bless  him!  proposed  my  health,  and  made  the  devil's 
own  speech;  we  all  began  to  pipe.  He  was  Regent 
then.  Your  father  was  there,  Valentine;  ask  him 
if  he  remembers  it.  That  was  a  scene!  I  won't 
say  how  it  ended;  but  the  best  joke  is,  I  got  a 
letter  from  my  governor  a  few  days  after,  with  an 
account  of  what  they  had  all  been  doing  at  Brand- 
ingham,  and  rowing  me  for  not  coming  down,  and 
I  found  out  1  had  kept  my  coming  of  age  the  wrong 
day.' 

'Did  you  tell  them  ?' 


i6  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'Not  a  word:  I  was  afraid  we  might  have  had  to 
go  through  it  over  again.' 

'I  suppose  old  Bellamont  is  the  devil's  own  screw,' 
said  Lord  Milford.  '  Rich  governors,  who  have  never 
been  hard  up,  always  are.' 

'No:  I  beHeve  he  is  a  very  good  sort  of  fellow,' 
said  Lord  Valentine;  'at  least  my  people  always  say 
so.  I  do  not  know  much  about  him,  for  they  never 
go  anywhere.' 

'They  have  got  Leander  down  at  Montacute,' said 
Mr.  Cassilis.  'Had  not  such  a  thing  as  a  cook  in 
the  whole  county.  They  say  Lord  Eskdale  arranged 
the  cuisine  for  them;  so  you  will  feed  well,  Valen- 
tine.' 

'That  is  something:  and  one  can  eat  before 
Easter;   but  when  the  balls  begin ' 

'Oh!  as  for  that,  you  will  have  dancing  enough 
at  Montacute;  it  is  expected  on  these  occasions:  Sir 
Roger  de  Coverley,  tenants'  daughters,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing.  Deuced  funny,  but  I  must  say,  if  I  am 
to  have  a  lark,  I  like  Vauxhall.' 

'I  never  met  the  Bellamonts,'  said  Lord  Milford, 
musingly.     'Are  there  any  daughters?' 

'None.' 

'That  is  a  bore  A  single  daughter,  even  if  there 
be  a  son,  may  be  made  something  of;  because,  in 
nine  cases  out  of  ten,  there  is  a  round  sum  in  the 
settlements  for  the  younger  children,  and  she  takes 
it  all.' 

'That  is  the  case  of  Lady  Blanche  Bickerstaffe,' 
said  Lord  Fitz-Heron.  '  She  will  have  a  hundred  thou- 
sand pounds.' 

'You  don't  mean  that!'  said  Lord  Valentine;  'and 
she  is  a  very  nice  girl,  too.' 


TANCRED  27 

'You  are  quite  wrong  about  the  hundred  thou- 
sand, Fitz,'  said  Lord  Milford;  'for  I  made  it  my 
business  to  inquire  most  particuhirly  into  the  affair: 
it  is  only  fifty.' 

'  In  these  cases,  the  best  rule  is  only  to  believe 
half,'  said  Mr.  Ormsby. 

'  Then  you  have  only  got  twenty  thousand  a-year, 
Ormsby,'  said  Lord  Milford,  laughing,  'because  the 
world  gives  you  forty.' 

'  Well,  we  must  do  the  best  we  can  in  these  hard 
times,'  said  Mr.  Ormsby,  with  an  air  of  mock  resig- 
nation. 'With  your  Dukes  of  Bellamont  and  all  these 
grandees  on  the  stage,  we  httle  men  shall  be  scarcely 
able  to  hold  up  our  heads.' 

'Come,  Ormsby,'  said  Lord  Milford;  'tell  us  the 
amount  of  your  income  tax.' 

'They  say  Sir  Robert  quite  blushed  when  he  saw 
the  figure  at  which  you  were  sacked,  and  declared  it 
was  downright  spoliation.' 

'You  young  men  are  always  talking  about  money,' 
said  Mr.  Ormsby,  shaking  his  head;  'you  should 
think  of  higher  things.' 

'I  wonder  what  young  Montacute  will  be  thinking 
of  this  time  next  year,'  said  Lord  Fitz-Heron. 

'There  will  be  plenty  of  people  thinking  of  him,' 
said  Mr.  Cassilis.  'Egad!  you  gentlemen  must  stir 
yourselves,  if  you  mean  to  be  turned  off.  You  will 
have  rivals.' 

'He  will  be  no  rival  to  me,'  said  Lord  Milford; 
'for  I  am  an  avowed  fortune-hunter,  and  that  you  say 
he  does  not  care  for,  at  least,  at  present.' 

'And  I  marry  only  for  love,'  said  Lord  Valentine, 
laughing;   'and  so  we  shall  not   clash.' 

'Ay,  ay;  but    if  he  will    not   go    to  the  heiresses, 


28  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

the  heiresses  will  go  to  him,'  said  Mr.  Ormsby.  'I 
have  seen  a  good  deal  of  these  things,  and  I  gener- 
ally observe  the  eldest  son  of  a  duke  takes  a  fortune 
out  of  the  market.  Why,  there  is  Beaumanoir,  he  is 
like  Valentine;  I  suppose  he  intends  to  marry  for 
love,  as  he  is  always  in  that  way;  but  the  heiresses 
never  leave  him  alone,  and  in  the  long  run  you  can- 
not withstand  it;  it  is  like  a  bribe;  a  man  is  indig- 
nant at  the  bare  thought,  refuses  the  first  offer,  and 
pockets  the  second.' 

'It  is  very  immoral,  and  very  unfair,'  said  Lord 
Milford,  'that  any  man  should  marry  for  tin  who 
does  not  want  it.' 


CHAPTER   IV. 

MoNTACUTE   Castle. 

HE  forest  of  Montacute,  in  the  north 
of  England,  is  the  name  given  to 
an  extensive  district,  which  in  many 
parts  offers  no  evidence  of  the 
propriety  of  its  title.  The  land, 
especially  during  the  last  century, 
has  been  effectively  cleared,  and  presents,  in  general, 
a  champaign  view;  rich  and  rural,  but  far  from  pic- 
turesque. Over  a  wide  expanse,  the  eye  ranges  on 
cornfields  and  rich  hedgerows,  many  a  sparkling  spire, 
and  many  a  merry  windmill.  In  the  extreme  distance, 
on  a  clear  day,  may  be  discerned  the  blue  hills  of  the 
Border,  and  towards  the  north  the  cultivated  country 
ceases,  and  the  dark  form  of  the  old  forest  spreads 
into  the  landscape.  The  traveller,  however,  who  may 
be  tempted  to  penetrate  these  sylvan  recesses,  will 
find  much  that  is  beautiful,  and  little  that  is  savage. 
He  will  be  struck  by  the  capital  road  that  winds 
among  the  groves  of  ancient  oak,  and  the  turfy  and 
ferny  wilderness  which  extends  on  each  side,  whence 
the  deer  gaze  on  him  with  haughty  composure,  as  if 
conscious  that  he  was  an  intruder  into  their  kingdom 
of  whom  they  need  have  no  fear.      As   he   advances, 

(29) 


30  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

he  observes  the  number  of  cross  routes  which  branch 
off  from  the  main  road,  and  which,  though  of  less 
dimensions,  are  equally  remarkable  for  their  masterly 
structure  and  compact  condition. 

Sometimes  the  land  is  cleared,  and  he  finds  him- 
self by  the  homestead  of  a  forest  farm,  and  remarks 
the  buildings,  distinguished  not  only  by  their  neat- 
ness, but  the  propriety  of  their  rustic  architecture. 
Still  advancing,  the  deer  become  rarer,  and  the  road 
is  formed  by  an  avenue  of  chestnuts;  the  forest,  on 
each  side,  being  now  transformed  into  vegetable  gar- 
dens. The  stir  of  the  population  is  soon  evident. 
Persons  are  moving  to  and  fro  on  the  side  path  of 
the  road.  Horsemen  and  carts  seem  returning  from 
market;  women  with  empty  baskets,  and  then  the 
rare  vision  of  a  stage-coach.  The  postilion  spurs  his 
horses,  cracks  his  whip,  and  dashes  at  full  gallop  into 
the  town  of  Montacute,  the  capital  of  the  forest. 

It  is  the  prettiest  little  town  in  the  world,  built 
entirely  of  hewn  stone,  the  well-paved  and  well- 
lighted  streets  as  neat  as  a  Dutch  village.  There  are 
two  churches;  one  of  great  antiquity,  the  other  raised 
by  the  present  duke,  but  in  the  best  style  of  Christian 
architecture.  The  bridge  that  spans  the  little  but 
rapid  river  Belle,  is  perhaps  a  trifle  too  vast  and  Ro- 
man for  Its  site;  but  it  was  built  by  the  first  duke  of 
the  second  dynasty,  who  was  always  afraid  of  under- 
building his  position.  The  town  was  also  indebted 
to  him  for  their  hall,  a  Palladian  palace.  Montacute 
is  a  corporate  town,  and,  under  the  old  system,  re- 
turned two  members  to  Parliament.  The  amount  of 
its  population,  according  to  the  rule  generally  ob- 
served, might  have  preserved  it  from  disfranchisement, 
but,  as  every  house  belonged  to  the  duke,  and  as  he 


TANCRED  31 

was  what,  in  the  confused  phraseology  of  the  revolu- 
tionary war,  was  called  a  Tory,  the  Whigs  took  care 
to  put  Montacute  in  Schedule  A. 

The  town-hall,  the  market-place,  a  literary  institu- 
tion, and  the  new  church,  form,  with  some  good 
houses  of  recent  erection,  a  handsome  square,  in 
which  there  is  a  fountain,  a  gift  to  the  town  from  the 
present  duchess. 

At  the  extremity  of  the  town,  the  ground  rises, 
and  on  a  woody  steep,  which  is  in  fact  the  termina- 
tion of  a  long  range  of  tableland,  may  be  seen  the 
towers  of  the  outer  court  of  Montacute  Castle.  The 
principal  building,  which  is  vast  and  of  various  ages, 
from  the  Plantagenets  to  the  Guelphs,  rises  on  a  ter- 
race, from  which,  on  the  side  opposite  to  the  town, 
you  descend  into  a  well-timbered  inclosure,  called  the 
Home  Park.  Further  on,  the  forest  again  appears; 
the  deer  again  crouch  in  their  fern,  or  glance  along 
the  vistas;  nor  does  this  green  domain  terminate  till  it 
touches  the  vast  and  purple  moors  that  divide  the 
kingdoms  of  Great  Britain. 

It  was  on  an  early  day  of  April  that  the  duke  was 
sitting  in  his  private  room,  a  pen  in  one  hand,  and 
looking  up  with  a  face  of  pleasurable  emotion  at  his 
wife,  who  stood  by  his  side,  her  right  arm  sometimes 
on  the  back  of  his  chair,  and  sometimes  on  his 
shoulder,  while  with  her  other  hand,  between  the 
intervals  of  speech,  she  pressed  a  handkerchief  to  her 
eyes,  bedewed  with  the  expression  of  an  affectionate 
excitement. 

'  It  is  too  much,'  said  her  Grace. 

•And  done  in  such  a  handsome  manner!'  said  the 
duke. 

'  I  would  not  tell  our  dear  child  of  it  at  this    mo- 


32  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

ment,'  said  the  duchess;  'he  has  so  much  to  go 
through! ' 

'  You  are  right,  Kate.  It  will  keep  till  the  cele- 
bration is  over.     How  delighted  he  will  be!' 

'  My  dear  George,  I  sometimes  think  we  are  too 
happy.' 

'You  are  not  half  as  happy  as  you  deserve  to  be,' 
replied  her  husband,  looking  up  with  a  smile  of  af- 
fection; and  then  he  finished  his  reply  to  the  letter  of 
Mr.  Hungerford,  one  of  the  county  members,  inform- 
ing the  duke,  that  now  Lord  Montacute  was  of  age, 
he  intended  at  once  to  withdraw  from  Parliament, 
having  for  a  long  time  fixed  on  the  majority  of  the 
heir  of  the  house  of  Bellamont  as  the  signal  for  that 
event.  'I  accepted  the  post,'  said  Mr.  Hungerford, 
'  much  against  my  will.  Your  Grace  behaved  to  me 
at  the  time  in  the  handsomest  manner,  and,  indeed, 
ever  since,  with  respect  to  this  subject.  But  a  Mar- 
quis of  Montacute  is,  in  my  opinion,  and,  I  believe  I 
may  add,  in  that  of  the  whole  county,  our  proper 
representative;  besides,  we  want  young  blood  in  the 
House.' 

'It  certainly  is  done  in  the  handsomest  manner,' 
said  the  duke. 

'  But  then  you  know,  George,  you  behaved  to  him 
in  the  handsomest  manner;  he  says  so,  as  you  do  in- 
deed to  everybody;  and  this  is  your  reward.' 

'I  should  be  very  sorry,  indeed,  if  Hungerford  did 
not  withdraw  with  perfect  satisfaction  to  himself,  and 
his  family  too,'  urged  the  duke;  'they  are  most  re- 
spectable people,  one  of  the  most  respectable  families 
in  the  county;  1  should  be  quite  grieved  if  this  step 
were  taken  without  their  entire  and  hearty  concur- 
rence.' 


TANCRED  23 

'Of  course  it  is,'  said  the  duchess,  'with  the  en- 
tire and  hearty  concurrence  of  every  one.  Mr.  Hun- 
gerford  says  so.  And  I  must  say  that,  though  few 
things  could  have  gratified  me  more,  I  quite  agree 
with  Mr.  Hungerford  that  a  Lord  Montacute  is  the 
natural  member  for  the  county;  and  I  have  no  doubt 
that  if  Mr.  Hungerford,  or  any  one  else  in  his  posi- 
tion, had  not  resigned,  they  never  could  have  met 
our  child  without  feeling  the  greatest  embarrassment.' 

'  A  man  though,  and  a  man  of  Hungerford's  posi- 
tion, an  old  family  in  the  county,  does  not  like  to 
figure  as  a  warming-pan,'  said  the  duke,  thought- 
fully. '  I  think  it  has  been  done  in  a  very  handsome 
manner.' 

'And  we  will  show  our  sense  of  it,'  said  the 
duchess.  '  The  Hungerfords  shall  feel,  when  they 
come  here  on  Thursday,  that  they  are  among  our 
best  friends.' 

'That  is  my  own  Kate!  Here  is  a  letter  from 
your  brother.  They  will  be  here  to-morrow.  Esk- 
dale  cannot  come  over  till  Wednesday.  He  is  at 
home,  but  detained  by  a  meeting  about  his  new  har- 
bour.* 

'  I  am  delighted  that  they  will  be  here  to-morrow,' 
said  the  duchess.  '  I  am  so  anxious  that  he  should 
see  Kate  before  the  castle  is  full,  when  he  will  have 
a  thousand  calls  upon  his  time!  I  feel  persuaded 
that  he  will  love  her  at  first  sight.  And  as  for  their 
being  cousins,  why,  we  were  cousins,  and  that  did 
not  hinder  us  from  loving  each  other.' 

'  If  she  resemble  you  as  much  as  you  resembled 
your  aunt  '  said  the  duke,  looking  up. 

'She  is  my  perfect  image,  my  very  self,  Harriet 
says,  in  disposition,  as  well  as  face  and  form.' 


34  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'Then  our  son  has  a  good  chance  of  being  a  very 
happy  man,'  said  the  duke. 

'  That  he  should  come  of  age,  enter  Parliament, 
and  marry  in  the  same  year!  We  ought  to  be  very 
thankful.     What  a  happy  year!' 

'  But  not  one  of  these  events  has  yet  occurred,' 
said  the  duke,  smiling. 

'But  they  all  will,'  said  the  duchess,  'under  Prov- 
idence.' 

'  I  would  not  precipitate  marriage.' 

'Certainly  not;  nor  should  1  wish  him  to  think  of 
it  before  the  autumn.  I  should  like  him  to  be  mar- 
ried on  our  wedding-day.' 


CHAPTER   V. 


The  Heir  Comes  of  Age. 

^g  HE  sun  shone  brightly,  there  was 
a  triumphal  arch  at  every  road; 
the  market-place  and  the  town-hall 
were  caparisoned  like  steeds  for 
a  tournament,  every  house  had  its 
garland;  the  flags  were  flying  on 
every  tower  and  steeple.  There  was  such  a  peal  of 
bells  you  could  scarcely  hear  your  neighbour's  voice; 
then  came  discharges  of  artillery,  and  then  bursts  of 
music  from  various  bands,  all  playing  different  tunes. 
The  country  people  came  trooping  in,  some  on  horse- 
back, some  in  carts,  some  in  procession.  The  Tem- 
perance band  made  an  immense  noise,  and  the  Odd 
Fellows  were  loudly  cheered.  Every  now  and  then 
one  of  the  duke's  yeomanry  galloped  through  the 
town  in  his  regimentals  of  green  and  silver,  with  his 
dark  flowing  plume  and  clattering  sabre,  and  with  an 
air  of  business-like  desperation,  as  if  he  were  carry- 
ing a  message  from  the  commander-in-chief  in  the 
thickest  of  the  fight. 

Before  the  eventful  day  of  which  this  merry  morn 
was  the  harbinger,  the  arrivals  of  guests  at  the  castle 
had  been  numerous  and  important.  First  came  the 
brother  of  the  duchess,  with   his    countess,  and   their 

( 35 ) 


36  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

fair  daughter  the  Lady  Katherine,  whose  fate,  uncon- 
sciously to  herself,  had  already  been  sealed  by  her 
noble  relatives.  She  was  destined  to  be  the  third 
Katherine  of  Bellamont  that  her  fortunate  house  had 
furnished  to  these  illustrious  walls.  Nor,  if  unaware 
of  her  high  lot,  did  she  seem  unworthy  of  it.  Her 
mien  was  prophetic  of  the  state  assigned  to  her. 
This  was  her  first  visit  to  Montacute  since  her  early 
childhood,  and  she  had  not  encountered  her  cousin 
since  their  nursery  days.  The  day  after  them,  Lord 
Eskdale  came  over  from  his  principal  seat  in  the  con- 
tiguous county,  of  which  he  was  lord-lieutenant.  He 
was  the  first  cousin  of  the  duke,  his  father  and  the 
second  Duke  of  Bellamont  having  married  two  sisters, 
and  of  course  intimately  related  to  the  duchess  and 
her  family.  Lord  Eskdale  exercised  a  great  influence 
over  the  house  of  Montacute,  though  quite  unsought 
for  by  him.  He  was  the  only  man  of  the  world 
whom  they  knew,  and  they  never  decided  upon  any- 
thing out  of  the  limited  circle  of  their  immediate  ex- 
perience without  consulting  him.  Lord  Eskdale  had 
been  the  cause  of  their  son  going  to  Eton;  Lord  Esk- 
dale had  recommended  them  to  send  him  to  Christ- 
church.  The  duke  had  begged  his  cousin  to  be  his 
trustee  when  he  married;  he  had  made  him  his  ex- 
ecutor, and  had  intended  him  as  the  guardian  of  his 
son.  Although,  from  the  difference  of  their  habits, 
little  thrown  together  in  their  earlier  youth.  Lord 
Eskdale  had  shown,  even  then,  kind  consideration  for 
his  relative;  he  had  even  proposed  that  they  should 
travel  together,  but  the  old  duke  would  not  consent 
to  this.  After  his  death,  however,  being  neighbours 
as  well  as  relatives.  Lord  Eskdale  had  become  the 
natural  friend  and  counsellor  of  his  Grace. 


TANCRED  37 

The  duke  deservedly  reposed  in  him  implicit  con- 
fidence, and  entertained  an  almost  unbounded  admira- 
tion of  his  cousin's  knowledge  of  mankind.  He  was 
scarcely  less  a  favourite  or  less  an  oracle  with  the 
duchess,  though  there  were  subjects  on  which  she 
feared  Lord  Eskdale  did  not  entertain  views  as  serious 
as  her  own;  but  Lord  Eskdale,  with  an  extreme  care- 
lessness of  manner,  and  an  apparent  negligence  of 
the  minor  arts  of  pleasing,  was  a  consummate  master 
of  the  feminine  idiosyncrasy,  and,  from  a  French 
actress  to  an  English  duchess,  was  skilled  in  guiding 
women  without  ever  letting  the  curb  be  felt.  Scarcely 
a  week  elapsed,  when  Lord  Eskdale  was  in  the  coun- 
try, that  a  long  letter  of  difficulties  was  not  received 
by  him  from  Montacute,  with  an  earnest  request  for 
his  immediate  advice.  His  lordship,  singularly  averse 
to  letter  writing,  and  especially  to  long  letter  writing, 
used  generally  in  reply  to  say  that,  in  the  course  of 
a  day  or  two,  he  should  be  in  their  part  of  the 
world,  and  would  talk  the  matter  over  with  them. 

And,  indeed,  nothing  was  more  amusing  than  to 
see  Lord  Eskdale,  imperturbable,  yet  not  heedless, 
with  his  peculiar  calmness,  something  between  that 
of  a  Turkish  pasha  and  an  English  jockey,  standing 
up  with  his  back  to  the  fire  and  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  and  hearing  the  united  statement  of  a  case 
by  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Bellamont;  the  serious 
yet  quiet  and  unexaggerated  narrative  of  his  Grace, 
the  impassioned  interruptions,  decided  opinions,  and 
lively  expressions  of  his  wife,  when  she  felt  the  duke 
was  not  doing  justice  to  the  circumstances,  or  her 
view  of  them,  and  the  Spartan  brevity  with  which, 
when  both  his  clients  were  exhausted,  their  counsel 
summed    up   the    whole    affair,  and   said   three  words 


38  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

which  seemed  suddenly  to  remove  all  doubts,  and  to 
solve  all  difficulties.  In  all  the  business  of  life,  Lord 
Eskdale,  though  he  appreciated  their  native  ability, 
and  respected  their  considerable  acquirements,  which 
he  did  not  share,  looked  upon  his  cousins  as  two 
children,  and  managed  them  as  children;  but  he  was 
really  attached  to  them,  and  the  sincere  attachment 
of  such  a  character  is  often  worth  more  than  the 
most  passionate  devotion.  The  last  great  domestic 
embarrassment  at  Montacute  had  been  the  affair  of 
the  cooks.  Lord  Eskdale  had  taken  this  upon  his 
own  shoulders,  and,  writing  to  Daubuz,  had  sent 
down  Leander  and  his  friends  to  open  the  minds  and 
charm  the  palates  of  the  north. 

Lord  Valentine  and  his  noble  parents,  and  their 
daughter.  Lady  Florentina,  who  was  a  great  horse- 
woman, also  arrived.  The  countess,  who  had  once 
been  a  beauty  with  the  reputation  of  a  wit,  and  now 
set  up  for  being  a  wit  on  the  reputation  of  having 
been  a  beauty,  was  the  lady  of  fashion  of  the  party, 
and  scarcely  knew  anybody  present,  though  there 
were  many  who  were  her  equals  and  some  her  supe- 
riors in  rank.  Her  way  was  to  be  a  little  fine,  al- 
ways smiling  and  condescendingly  amiable;  when 
alone  with  her  husband  shrugging  her  shoulders 
somewhat,  and  vowing  that  she  was  delighted  that 
Lord  Eskdale  was  there,  as  she  had  somebody  to 
speak  to.  It  was  what  she  called  'quite  a  relief.'  A 
relief,  perhaps,  from  Lord  and  Lady  Mountjoy,  whom 
she  had  been  avoiding  all  her  life;  unfortunate  peo- 
ple, who,  with  a  large  fortune,  lived  in  a  wrong 
square,  and  asked  to  their  house  everybody  who  was 
nobody;  besides.  Lord  Mountjoy  was  vulgar,  and 
laughed  too  loud,  and  Lady  Mountjoy  called  you  '  my 


TANCRED  39 

dear,'  and  showed  her  teeth.  A  relief,  perhaps,  too, 
from  the  Hon.  and  Rev.  Montacute  Moantjoy,  who, 
with  Lady  Eleanor,  four  daughters  and  two  sons,  had 
been  invited  to  celebrate  the  majority  of  the  future 
chieftain  of  their  house.  The  countess  had  what  is 
called  *a  horror  of  those  Mountjoys,  and  those  Mon- 
tacute Mountjoys,'  and  what  added  to  her  annoyance 
was,  that  Lord  Valentine  was  always  flirting  with 
the  Misses  Montacute  Mountjoy. 

The  countess  could  find  no  companions  in  the 
Duke  and  Duchess  of  Clanronald,  because,  as  she 
told  her  husband,  as  they  could  not  speak  English 
and  she  could  not  speak  Scotch,  it  was  impossible 
to  exchange  ideas.  The  bishop  of  the  diocese  was 
there,  toothless  and  tolerant,  and  wishing  to  be  on 
good  terms  with  all  sects,  provided  they  pay  church- 
rates,  and  another  bishop  far  more  vigorous  and  of 
greater  fame.  By  his  administration  the  heir  of  Bella- 
mont  had  entered  the  Christian  Church,  and  by  the 
imposition  of  his  hands  had  been  confirmed  in  it. 
His  lordship,  a  great  authority  with  the  duchess,  was 
specially  invited  to  be  present  on  the  interesting  oc- 
casion, when  the  babe  that  he  had  held  at  the  font, 
and  the  child  that  he  had  blessed  at  the  altar, 
was  about  thus  publicly  to  adopt  and  acknowledge 
the  duties  and  responsibility  of  a  man.  But  the 
countess,  though  she  liked  bishops,  liked  them,  as 
she  told  her  husband,  'in  their  place.'  What  that  ex- 
actly was,  she  did  not  define;  but  probably  their 
palaces  or  the  House  of  Lords. 

It  was  hardly  to  be  expected  that  her  ladyship 
would  find  any  relief  in  the  society  of  the  Marquis  and 
Marchioness  of  Hampshire;  for  his  lordship  passed  his 
life  in  being  the  President  of  scientific  and  literary  so- 


40  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

cieties,  and  was  ready  for  anything  from  the  Royal,  if 
his  turn  ever  arrived,  to  opening  a  Mechanics'  Insti- 
tute in  his  neighbouring  town.  Lady  Hampshire  was 
an  invalid;  but  her  ailment  was  one  of  those  mys- 
teries which  still  remained  insoluble,  although,  in  the 
most  liberal  manner,  she  delighted  to  afford  her 
friends  all  the  information  in  her  power.  Never  was 
a  votary  endowed  with  a  faith  at  once  so  lively  and 
so  capricious.  Each  year  she  believed  in  some  new 
remedy,  and  announced  herself  on  the  eve  of  some 
miraculous  cure.  But  the  saint  was  scarcely  canon- 
ised before  his  claims  to  beatitude  were  impugned. 
One  year  Lady  Hampshire  never  quitted  Leamington; 
another,  she  contrived  to  combine  the  infinitesimal 
doses  of  Hahnemann  with  the  colossal  distractions  of 
the  metropolis.  Now  her  sole  conversation  was  the 
water  cure.  Lady  Hampshire  was  to  begin  immedi- 
ately after  her  visit  to  Montacute,  and  she  spoke  m 
her  sawney  voice  of  factitious  enthusiasm,  as  if  she 
pitied  the  lot  of  all  those  who  were  not  about  to 
sleep  in  wet  sheets. 

The  members  for  the  county,  with  their  wives  and 
daughters,  the  Hungerfords  and  the  lldertons,  Sir 
Russell  Malpas,  or  even  Lord  Hull,  an  Irish  peer  with 
an  English  estate,  and  who  represented  one  of  the 
divisions,  were  scarcely  a  relief.  Lord  Hull  was  a 
bachelor,  and  had  twenty  thousand  a  year,  and  would 
not  have  been  too  old  for  Florentina,  if  Lord  Hull 
had  only  lived  in  'society,'  learnt  how  to  dress  and 
how  to  behave,  and  had  avoided  that  peculiar  coarse- 
ness of  manners  and  complexion  which  seem  the 
inevitable  results  of  a  provincial  life.  What  are  forty- 
five  or  even  forty-eight  years,  if  a  man  do  not  get 
up    too    early    or    go    to    bed    too    soon,     if    he    be 


TANCRED  41 

dressed  by  the  right  persons,  and,  early  accustomed 
to  the  society  of  women,  he  possesses  that  flexibiHty 
of  manner  and  that  readiness  of  gentle  repartee 
which  a  feminine  apprenticeship  can  alone  confer? 
But  Lord  Hull  was  a  man  with  a  red  face  and  a  grey 
head  on  whom  coarse  indulgence  and  the  selfish  neg- 
ligence of  a  country  life  had  already  conferred  a 
shapeless  form;  and  who,  dressed  something  like 
a  groom,  sat  at  dinner  in  stolid  silence  by  Lady 
Hampshire,  who,  whatever  were  her  complaints,  had 
certainly  the  art,  if  only  from  her  questions,  of  mak- 
ing her  neighbours  communicative.  The  countess 
examined  Lord  Hull  through  her  eye-glass  with  curi- 
ous pity  at  so  fine  a  fortune  and  so  good  a  family 
being  so  entirely  thrown  away.  Had  he  been  brought 
up  in  a  civilised  manner,  lived  six  months  in  May 
Fair,  passed  his  carnival  at  Paris,  never  sported  ex- 
cept in  Scotland,  and  occasionally  visited  a  German 
bath,  even  Lord  Hull  might  have  'fined  down.'  His 
hair  need  not  have  been  grey  if  it  had  been  attended 
to;  his  complexion  would  not  have  been  so  glaring; 
his  hands  never  could  have  grown  to  so  huge  a 
shape. 

What  a  party,  where  the  countess  was  absolutely 
driven  to  speculate  on  the  possible  destinies  of  a  Lord 
Hull!  But  in  this  party  there  was  not  a  single  young 
man,  at  least  not  a  single  young  man  one  had  ever 
heard  of,  except  her  son,  and  he  was  of  no  use.  The 
Duke  of  Bellamont  knew  no  young  men;  the  duke  did 
not  even  belong  to  a  club;  the  Duchess  of  Bellamont 
knew  no  young  men;  she  never  gave  and  she  never 
attended  an  evening  party.  As  for  the  county  youth, 
the  young  Hungerfords  and  the  young  lldertons,  the 
best    of   them    formed    part    of   the    London    crowd. 


42  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

Some  of  them,  by  complicated  manoeuvres,  might 
even  have  made  their  way  into  the  countess's  crowded 
saloons  on  a  miscellaneous  night.  She  knew  the 
length  of  their  tether.  They  ranged,  as  the  Price 
Current  says,  from  eight  to  three  thousand  a  year. 
Not  the  figure  that  purchases  a  Lady  Florentina! 

There  were  many  other  guests,  and  some  of  them 
notable,  though  not  of  the  class  and  character  to 
interest  the  fastidious  mother  of  Lord  Valentine;  but 
whoever  and  whatever  they  might  be,  of  the  sixty 
or  seventy  persons  who  were  seated  each  day  in  the 
magnificent  banqueting-room  of  Montacute  Castle, 
feasting,  amid  pyramids  of  gold  plate,  on  the  master- 
pieces of  Leander,  there  was  not  a  single  individual 
who  did  not  possess  one  of  the  two  great  qualifica- 
tions: they  were  all  of  them  cousins  of  the  Duke  of 
Bellamont,  or  proprietors  in  his  county. 

But  we  must  not  anticipate,  the  great  day  of  the 
festival  having  hardly  yet  commenced. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


A  Festal  Day. 

N  THE  Home  Park  was  a  colossal 
pavilion,  which  held  more  than  two 
thousand  persons,  and  in  which 
the  townsfolk  of  Montacute  were 
to  dine;  at  equal  distances  were 
several  smaller  tents,  each  of  differ- 
ent colours  and  patterns,  and  each  bearing  on  a  standard 
the  name  of  one  of  the  surrounding  parishes  which 
belonged  to  the  Duke  of  Bellamont,  and  to  the  con- 
venience and  gratification  of  whose  inhabitants  these 
tents  were  to-day  dedicated.  There  was  not  a  man 
of  Buddleton  or  Fuddleton;  not  a  yeoman  or  peasant  of 
Montacute  super  Mare  or  Montacute  Abbotts,  nor 
of  Percy  Bellamont  nor  Friar's  Bellamont,  nor  Winch 
nor  Finch,  nor  of  Mandeville  Stokes  nor  Mandeville 
Bois;  not  a  goodman  true  of  Carleton  and  Ingleton 
and  Kirkby  and  Dent,  and  Gillamoor  and  Padmore 
and  Hutton  le  Hale;  not  a  stout  forester  from  the 
glades  of  Thorp,  or  the  sylvan  homes  of  Hurst  Lyd- 
gate  and  Bishopstowe,  that  knew  not  where  foamed 
and  flowed  the  duke's  ale,  that  was  to  quench  the 
longings  of  his  thirsty  village.  And  their  wives  and 
daughters  were  equally  welcome.     At  the  entrance  of 

(43) 


44  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

each  tent,  the  duke's  servants  invited  all  to  enter, 
supplied  them  with  required  refreshments,  or  indicated 
their  appointed  places  at  the  approaching  banquet. 
In  general,  though  there  were  many  miscellaneous 
parties,  each  village  entered  the  park  in  procession, 
with  its  flag  and  its  band. 

At  noon  the  scene  presented  the  appearance  of  an 
immense  but  well-ordered  fair.  In  the  background, 
men  and  boys  climbed  poles  or  raced  in  sacks,  while 
the  exploits  of  the  ginglers,  their  mischievous  ma- 
noeuvres and  subtle  combinations,  elicited  frequent 
bursts  of  laughter.  Further  on,  two  long-menaced 
cricket  matches  called  forth  all  the  skill  and  energy  of 
Fuddleton  and  Buddleton,  and  Winch  and  Finch. 
The  great  throng  of  the  population,  however,  was  in 
the  precincts  of  the  terrace,  where,  in  the  course  of 
the  morning,  it  was  known  that  the  duke  and  duch- 
ess, with  the  hero  of  the  day  and  all  their  friends, 
were  to  appear,  to  witness  the  sports  of  the  people, 
and  especially  the  feats  of  the  morrice-dancers,  who 
were  at  this  moment  practising  before  a  very  numer- 
ous and  delighted  audience.  In  the  meantime,  bells, 
drums,  and  trumpets,  an  occasional  volley,  and  the 
frequent  cheers  and  laughter  of  the  multitude,  com- 
bined with  the  brilliancy  of  the  sun  and  the  bright- 
ness of  the  ale  to  make  a  right  gladsome  scene. 

'It's  nothing  to  what  it  will  be  at  night,'  said  one 
of  the  duke's  footmen  to  his  family,  his  father  and 
mother,  two  sisters  and  a  young  brother,  listening  to 
him  with  open  mouths,  and  staring  at  his  state  livery 
with  mingled  feelings  of  awe  and  affection.  They  had 
come  over  from  Bellamont  Friars,  and  their  son  had 
asked  the  steward  to  give  him  the  care  of  the  pavilion 
of  that  village,  in  order   that  he   might   look  after  his 


TANCRED  45 

friends.  Never  was  a  family  who  esteemed  themselves 
so  fortunate  or  felt  so  happy.  This  was  having  a 
friend  at  court,  indeed. 

'It's  nothing  to  what  it  will  be  at  night,'  said 
Thomas.  'You  will  have  "Hail,  star  of  Bellamont!" 
and  "God  save  the  Queen!"  a  crown,  three  stars, 
four  flags,  and  two  coronets,  all  in  coloured  lamps, 
letters  six  feet  high,  on  the  castle.  There  will  be 
one  hundred  beacons  lit  over  the  space  of  fifty  miles 
the  moment  a  rocket  is  shot  off  from  the  Round 
Tower;  and  as  for  fireworks,  Bob,  you'll  see  them  at 
last.  Bengal  lights,  and  the  largest  wheels  will  be  as 
common   as    squibs  and    crackers;    and    I    have   heard 

say,  though  it  is  not  to  be  mentioned '     And  he 

paused. 

'  We'll  not  open  our  mouths,'  said  his  father,  ear- 
nestly, 

'You  had  better  not  tell  us,'  said  his  mother,  in  a 
nervous  paroxysm;  'for  I  am  in  such  a  fluster,  I  am 
sure  I  cannot  answer  for  myself,  and  then  Thomas 
may  lose  his  place  for  breach  of  conference.' 

'Nonsense,  mother,'  said  his  sisters,  who  snubbed 
their  mother  almost  as  readily  as  is  the  gracious  habit 
of  their  betters.     '  Pray  tell  us,  Tom.' 

'Ay,  ay,  Tom,'  said  his  younger  brother. 

'Well,'  said  Tom,  in  a  confidential  whisper,  'won't 
there  be  a  transparency!  1  have  heard  say  the  Queen 
never  had  anything  like  it.  You  won't  be  able  to  see 
it  for  the  first  quarter  of  an  hour,  there  will  be  such 
a  blaze  of  fire  and  rockets;  but  when  it  does  come, 
they  say  it's  like  heaven  opening;  the  young  markiss 
on  a  cloud,  with  his  hand  on  his  heart,  in  his  new 
uniform.' 

'Dear  me!'  said  the  mother.     'I  knew  him  before 


46  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

he  was  weaned.  The  duchess  suckled  him  herself, 
which  shows  her  heart  is  very  true;  for  they  may  say 
what  they  like,  but  if  another's  milk  is  in  your  child's 
veins,  he  seems,  in  a  sort  of  way,  as  much  her  bairn 
as  your  own.' 

'Mother's  milk  makes  a  true  born  Englishman,' 
said  the  father;  'and  I  make  no  doubt  our  young 
markiss  will  prove  the  same.' 

'How  I  long  to  see  him!'  exclaimed  one  of  the 
daughters. 

'And  so  do  I!'  said  her  sister;  'and  in  his  uni- 
form!    How  beautiful  it  must  be!' 

'Well,  I  don't  know,'  said  the  mother;  'and  per- 
haps you  will  laugh  at  me  for  saying  so,  but  after 
seeing  my  Thomas  in  his  state  Hvery,  I  don't  care 
much  for  seeing  anything  else.' 

'  Mother,  how  can  you  say  such  things  ?  I  am 
afraid  the  crowd  will  be  very  great  at  the  fireworks. 
We  must  try  to  get  a  good  place.' 

'I  have  arranged  all  that,'  said  Thomas,  with  a 
triumphant  look.  'There  will  be  an  inner  circle  for 
the  steward's  friends,  and  you  will  be  let  in.' 

'Oh!'  exclaimed  his  sisters. 

'Well,  I  hope  I  shall  get  through  the  day,'  said  his 
mother;   'but  it's  rather  a  trial,  after  our  quiet  hfe.' 

'And  when  will  they  come  on  the  terrace, 
Thomas  ?' 

'You  see,  they  are  waiting  for  the  corporation, 
that's  the  mayor  and  town  council  of  Montacute; 
they  are  coming  up  with  an  address.  There!  Do 
you  hear  that?  That's  the  signal  gun.  They  are 
leaving  the  town-hall  at  this  same  moment.  Now,  in 
three-quarters  of  an  hour's  time  or  so,  the  duke  and 
duchess,  and    the    young    markiss,    and    all    of  them, 


TANCRED  47 

will  come  on  the  terrace.  So  you  be  alive,  and  draw 
near,  and  get  a  good  place.  I  must  look  after  these 
people.' 

About  the  same  time  that  the  cannon  announced  that 
the  corporation  had  quitted  the  town-hall,  some  one 
tapped  at  the  chamber-door  of  Lord  Eskdale,  who 
was  sealing  a  letter  in  his  private  room. 

'Well,  Harris.?'  said  Lord  Eskdale,  looking  up,  and 
recognising  his  valet. 

'His  Grace  has  been  inquiring  for  your  lordship 
several  times,'  replied  Mr.  Harris,  with  a  perplexed 
air. 

'I  shall  be  with  him  in  good  time,'  replied  his 
lordship,  again  looking  down. 

'If  you  could  manage  to  come  down  at  once,  my 
lord,'  said  Mr.  Harris. 

'Why.?' 

'Mr.  Leander  wishes  to  see  your  lordship  very 
much.' 

'Ah!  Leander!'  said  Lord  Eskdale,  in  a  more  in- 
terested tone.     'What  does  he  want?' 

'1  have  not  seen  him,'  said  Mr.  Harris;  'but  Mr. 
Prevost  tells  me  that  his  feelings  are  hurt.' 

'I  hope  he  has  not  struck,'  said  Lord  Eskdale, 
with  a  comical  glance. 

'Something  of  that  sort,'  said  Mr.  Harris,  very 
seriously. 

Lord  Eskdale  had  a  great  sympathy  with  artists; 
he  was  well  acquainted  with  that  irritability  which  is 
said  to  be  the  characteristic  of  the  creative  power; 
genius  always  found  in  him  an  indulgent  arbiter. 
He  was  convinced  that  if  the  feelings  of  a  rare  spirit 
like  Leander  were  hurt,  they  were  not  to  be  trifled 
with.     He  felt  responsible  for  the  presence  of  one  so 


48  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

eminent  in  a  country  where,  perhaps,  he  was  not 
properly  appreciated;  and  Lord  Eskdale  descended  to 
the  steward's  room  with  the  consciousness  of  an  im- 
portant, probably  a  diificult,  mission. 

The  kitchen  of  Montacute  Castle  was  of  the  old 
style,  fitted  for  baronial  feasts.  It  covered  a  great 
space,  and  was  very  lofty.  Now  they  build  them  in 
great  houses  on  a  different  system;  even  more  dis- 
tinguished by  height,  but  far  more  condensed  in  area, 
as  it  is  thought  that  a  dish  often  suffers  from  the 
distances  which  the  cook  has  to  move  over  in  col- 
lecting its  various  component  parts.  The  new  princi- 
ple seems  sound;  the  old  practice,  however,  was 
more  picturesque.  The  kitchen  at  Montacute  was 
like  the  preparation  for  the  famous  wedding  feast  of 
Prince  Riquet  with  the  Tuft,  when  the  kind  earth 
opened,  and  revealed  that  genial  spectacle  of  white- 
capped  cooks,  and  endless  stoves  and  stewpans.  The 
steady  blaze  of  two  colossal  fires  was  shrouded  by 
vast  screens.  Everywhere,  rich  materials  and  silent 
artists;  business  without  bustle,  and  the  all-pervading 
magic  of  method.  Philippon  was  preparing  a  sauce; 
Dumoreau,  in  another  quarter  of  the  spacious  cham- 
ber, was  arranging  some  truffles;  the  Englishman, 
Smit,  was  fashioning  a  cutlet.  Between  these  three 
generals  of  division  aides-de-camp  perpetually  passed, 
in  the  form  of  active  and  observant  marmitons,  more 
than  one  of  whom,  as  he  looked  on  the  great  masters 
around  him,  and  with  the  prophetic  faculty  of  genius 
surveyed  the  future,  exclaimed  to  himself,  like  Cor- 
reggio,   'And  I  also  will  be  a  cook.' 

In  this  animated  and  interesting  scene  was  only 
one  unoccupied  individual,  or  rather  occupied  only 
with  his  own  sad  thoughts.     This  was  Papa  Prevost, 


TANCRED  49 

leaning  against  rather  than  sitting  on  a  dresser,  with 
his  arms  folded,  his  idle  knife  stuck  in  his  girdle,  and 
the  tassel  of  his  cap  awry  with  vexation.  His  gloomy 
brow,  however,  lit  up  as  Mr.  Harris,  for  whom  he 
was  waiting  with  anxious  expectation,  entered,  and 
summoned  him  to  the  presence  of  Lord  Eskdale,  who, 
with  a  shrewd  yet  lounging  air,  which  concealed  his 
own  foreboding  perplexity,  said,  '  Well,  Prevost,  what 
is  the  matter?    The  people  here  been  impertinent?' 

Prevost  shook  his  head.  'We  never  were  in  a 
house,  my  lord,  where  they  were  more  obliging.  It 
is  something  much  worse.' 

'Nothing  wrong  about  your  fish,  I  hope?  Well, 
what  is  it?' 

'Leander,  my  lord,  has  been  dressing  dinners  for 
a  week:  dinners,  I  will  be  bound  to  say,  which  were 
never  equalled  in  the  Imperial  kitchen,  and  the  duke 
has  never  made  a  single  observation,  or  sent  him  a 
single  message.  Yesterday,  determined  to  outdo  even 
himself,  he  sent  up  some  escalopes  de  laitances  de 
carpes  a  la  Bellamont.  In  my  time  I  have  seen  noth- 
ing like  it,  my  lord.  Ask  Philippon,  ask  Dumoreau, 
what  they  thought  of  it!  Even  the  Englishman,  Smit, 
who  never  says  anything,  opened  his  mouth  and  ex- 
claimed; as  for  the  marmitons,  they  were  breathless, 
and  I  thought  Achille,  the  youth  of  whom  I  spoke  to 
you,  my  lord,  and  who  appears  to  me  to  be  born 
with  the  true  feeling,  would  have  been  overcome 
with  emotion.  When  it  was  finished,  Leander  re- 
tired to  his  room  —  I  attended  him  —  and  covered  his 
face  with  his  hands.  Would  you  believe  it,  my  lord! 
Not  a  word;  not  even  a  message.  All  this  morning 
Leander  has  waited  in  the  last  hope.  Nothing,  abso- 
lutely  nothing!     How   can   he  compose    when   he    is 


so  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

not  appreciated  ?  Had  he  been  appreciated,  he  would 
to-day  not  only  have  repeated  the  escalopes  a  la  Bel- 
lamont,  but  perhaps  even  invented  what  might  have 
outdone  it.  It  is  unheard  of,  my  lord.  The  late  lord 
Monmouth  would  have  sent  for  Leander  the  very 
evening,  or  have  written  to  him  a  beautiful  letter, 
which  would  have  been  preserved  in  his  family;  M. 
de  Sidonia  would  have  sent  him  a  tankard  from  his 
table.  These  things  in  themselves  are  nothing;  but 
they  prove  to  a  man  of  genius  that  he  is  understood. 
Had  Leander  been  in  the  Imperial  kitchen,  or  even 
with  the  Emperor  of  Russia,  he  would  have  been 
decorated!' 

'Where  is  he?'  said  Lord  Eskdale. 

'He  is  alone  in  the  cook's  room.' 

'I  will  go  and  say  a  word  to  him.' 

Alone,  in  the  cook's  room,  gazing  in  listless  va- 
cancy on  the  fire,  that  fire  which,  under  his  influence, 
had  often  achieved  so  many  master-works,  was  the 
great  artist  who  was  not  appreciated.  No  longer 
suffering  under  mortification,  but  overwhelmed  by 
that  exhaustion  which  follows  acute  sensibility  and 
the  over-tension  of  the  creative  faculty,  he  looked 
round  as  Lord  Eskdale  entered,  and  when  he  per- 
ceived who  was  his  visitor,  he  rose  immediately, 
bowed  very  low,  and  then  sighed. 

'  Prevost  thinks  we  are  not  exactly  appreciated 
here,'  said  Lord  Eskdale. 

Leander  bowed  again,  and  still  sighed. 

'Prevost  does  not  understand  the  affair,'  continued 
Lord  Eskdale.  'Why  I  wished  you  to  come  down 
here,  Leander,  was  not  to  receive  the  applause  of  my 
cousin  and  his  guests,  but  to  form  their  taste.' 

Here  was  a  great  idea;  exciting  and  ennobling.     It 


TANCRED  51 

threw  quite  a  new  light  upon  the  position  of  Leander. 
He  started;  his  brow  seemed  to  dear.  Leander,  then, 
like  other  eminent  men,  had  duties  to  perform  as  well 
as  rights  to  enjoy;  he  had  a  right  to  fame,  but  it 
was  also  his  duty  to  form  and  direct  public  taste. 
That  then  was  the  reason  he  was  brought  down  to 
Bellamont  Castle;  because  some  of  the  greatest  per- 
sonages in  England,  who  never  had  eaten  a  proper 
dinner  in  their  lives,  would  have  an  opportunity,  for 
the  first  time,  of  witnessing  art.  What  could  the 
praise  of  the  Duke  of  Clanronald,  or  Lord  Hampshire, 
or  Lord  Hull,  signify  to  one  who  had  shared  the  con- 
fidence of  a  Lord  Monmouth,  and  whom  Sir  Alex- 
ander Grant,  the  first  judge  in  Europe,  had  declared 
the  only  man  of  genius  of  the  age?  Leander  erred 
too  in  supposing  that  his  achievements  had  been  lost 
upon  the  guests  at  Bellamont.  Insensibly  his  feats  had 
set  them  a-thinking.  They  had  been  like  Cossacks  in 
a  picture-gallery;  but  the  Clanronalds,  the  Hampshires, 
the  Hulls,  would  return  to  their  homes  impressed 
with  a  great  truth,  that  there  is  a  difference  between 
eating  and  dining.  Was  this  nothing  for  Leander  to 
have  effected?  Was  it  nothing,  by  this  development 
of  taste,  to  assist  in  supporting  that  aristocratic  in- 
fluence which  he  wished  to  cherish,  and  which  can 
alone  encourage  art  ?  If  anything  can  save  the  aris- 
tocracy in  this  levelling  age,  it  is  an  appreciation  of 
men  of  genius.  Certainly  it  would  have  been  very 
gratifying  to  Leander  if  his  Grace  had  only  sent  him 
a  message,  or  if  Lord  Montacute  had  expressed  a 
wish  to  see  him.  He  had  been  long  musing  over 
some  dish  d  la  Montacute  for  this  very  day.  The 
young  lord  was  reputed  to  have  talent;  this  dish 
might  touch  his  fancy:   the   homage  of  a  great   artist 


52  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

flatters  youth;-  this  offering  of  genius  might  colour 
his  destiny.  But  what,  after  all,  did  this  signify? 
Leander  had  a  mission  to  perform. 

'If  I  were  you,  1  would  exert  myself,  Leander,' 
said  Lord  Eskdale. 

'Ah!  my  lord,  if  all  men  were  like  you!  If  artists 
were  only  sure  of  being  appreciated;  if  we  were  but 
understood,  a  dinner  would  become  a  sacrifice  to  the 
gods,  and  a  kitchen  would  be  Paradise.' 

In  the  meantime,  the  mayor  and  town-councillors 
of  Montacute,  in  their  robes  of  office,  and  preceded 
by  their  bedels  and  their  mace-bearer,  have  entered 
the  gates  of  the  castle.  They  pass  into  the  great  hall, 
the  most  ancient  part  of  the  building,  with  its  open 
roof  of  Spanish  chestnut,  its  screen  and  gallery  and 
dais,  its  painted  windows  and  marble  floor.  Ascend- 
ing the  dais,  they  are  ushered  into  an  antechamber, 
the  first  of  that  suite  of  state  apartments  that  opens 
on  the  terrace.  Leaving  on  one  side  the  principal 
dining-room  and  the  library,  they  proceeded  through 
the  green  drawing-room,  so  called  from  its  silken 
hangings,  the  red  drawing-room,  covered  with  ruby 
velvet,  and  both  adorned,  but  not  encumbered,  with 
pictures  of  the  choicest  art,  into  the  principal  or 
duchesses'  drawing-room,  thus  entitled  from  its  com- 
plete collection  of  portraits  of  Duchesses  of  Bellamont. 
It  was  a  spacious  and  beautifully  proportioned  cham- 
ber, hung  with  amber  satin,  its  ceiling  by  Zucchero, 
whose  rich  colours  were  relieved  by  the  burnished 
gilding.  The  corporation  trod  tremblingly  over  the 
gorgeous  carpet  of  Axminster,  which  displayed,  in 
vivid  colours  and  colossal  proportions,  the  shield  and 
supporters  of  Bellamont,  and  threw  a  hasty  glance  at 
the    vases    of    porphyry    and    malachite,    and    mosaic 


TANCRED  53 

tables  covered  with  precious  toys,  which  were  grouped 
about. 

Thence  they  were  ushered  into  the  Montacute 
room,  adorned,  among  many  interesting  pictures,  by 
perhaps  the  finest  performance  of  Lawrence,  a  por- 
trait of  the  present  duke,  just  after  his  marriage.  Tall 
and  graceful,  with  a  clear  dark  complexion,  regular 
features,  eyes  of  liquid  tenderness,  a  frank  brow,  and 
rich  clustering  hair,  the  accomplished  artist  had  seized 
and  conveyed  the  character  of  a  high-spirited  but 
gentle-hearted  cavalier.  From  the  Montacute  chamber 
they  entered  the  ball-room;  very  spacious,  white  and 
gold,  a  coved  ceiling,  large  Venetian  lustres,  and  the 
walls  of  looking-glass,  enclosing  friezes  of  festive 
sculpture.  Then  followed  another  antechamber,  in 
the  centre  of  which  was  one  of  the  masterpieces  of 
Canova.  This  room,  lined  with  footmen  in  state  liv- 
eries, completed  the  suite  that  opened  on  the  terrace. 
The  northern  side  of  this  chamber  consisted  of  a  large 
door,  divided,  and  decorated  in  its  panels  with  em- 
blazoned shields  of  arms. 

The  valves  being  thrown  open,  the  mayor  and 
town-council  of  Montacute  were  ushered  into  a  gal- 
lery one  hundred  feet  long,  and  which  occupied  a 
great  portion  of  the  northern  side  of  the  castle.  The 
panels  of  this  gallery  enclosed  a  series  of  pictures  in 
tapestry,  which  represented  the  principal  achievements 
of  the  third  crusade.  A  Montacute  had  been  one  of 
the  most  distinguished  knights  in  that  great  adven- 
ture, and  had  saved  the  life  of  Coeur  de  Lion  at  the 
siege  of  Ascalon.  In  after-ages  a  Duke  of  Bellamont, 
who  was  our  ambassador  at  Paris,  had  given  orders 
to  the  Gobelins  factory  for  the  execution  of  this 
series  of  pictures  from  cartoons  by  the  most  celebrated 


54  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

artists  of  the  time.  Tiie  subjects  of  the  tapestry  had 
obtained  for  the  magnificent  chamber,  which  they 
adorned  and  rendered  so  interesting,  the  title  of 
'The  Crusaders'  Gallery.' 

At  the  end  of  this  gallery,  surrounded  by  their 
guests,  their  relatives,  and  their  neighbours;  by  high 
nobility,  by  reverend  prelates,  by  the  members  and 
notables  of  the  county,  and  by  some  of  the  chief 
tenants  of  the  duke,  a  portion  of  whom  were  never 
absent  from  any  great  carousing  or  high  ceremony 
that  occurred  within  his  walls,  the  Duke  and  Duchess 
of  Bellamont  and  their  son,  a  little  in  advance  of  the 
company,  stood  to  receive  the  congratulatory  addresses 
of  the  mayor  and  corporation  of  their  ancient  and 
faithful  town  of  Montacute;  the  town  which  their 
fathers  had  built  and  adorned,  which  they  had  often 
represented  in  Parliament  in  the  good  old  days,  and 
which  they  took  care  should  then  enjoy  its  fair  pro- 
portion of  the  good  old  things;  a  town,  every  house 
in  which  belonged  to  them,  and  of  which  there  was 
not  an  inhabitant  who,  in  his  own  person  or  in  that 
of  his  ancestry,  had  not  felt  the  advantages  of  the 
noble  connection. 

The  duke  bowed  to  the  corporation,  with  the 
duchess  on  his  left  hand;  and  on  his  right  there 
stood  a  youth,  above  the  middle  height  and  of  a 
frame  completely  and  gracefully  formed.  His  dark 
brown  hair,  in  those  hyacinthine  curls  which  Grecian 
poets  have  celebrated,  and  which  Grecian  sculptors 
have  immortalised,  clustered  over  his  brow,  which, 
however,  they  only  partially  concealed.  It  was  pale, 
as  was  his  whole  countenance,  but  the  liquid  richness 
of  the  dark  brown  eye,  and  the  colour  of  the  lip,  de- 
noted anything  but  a  languid  circulation.    The  features 


TANCRED 


SS 


were  regular,  and  inclined  rather  to  a  refinement 
which  might  have  imparted  to  the  countenance  a 
character  of  too  much  delicacy,  had  it  not  been  for 
the  deep  meditation  of  the  brow,  and  for  the  lower 
part  of  the  visage,  which  intimated  indomitable  will 
and  an  iron  resolution. 

Placed  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  in  a  public 
position,  and  under  circumstances  which  might  have 
occasioned  some  degree  of  embarrassment  even  to 
those  initiated  in  the  world,  nothing  was  more  re- 
markable in  the  demeanour  of  Lord  Montacute  than 
his  self-possession;  nor  was  there  in  his  carriage 
anything  studied,  or  which  had  the  character  of  being 
preconceived.  Every  movement  or  gesture  was  dis- 
tinguished by  what  may  be  called  a  graceful  gravity. 
With  a  total  absence  of  that  excitement  which  seemed 
so  natural  to  his  age  and  situation,  there  was  nothing 
in  his  manner  which  approached  to  nonchalance  or 
indifference.  It  would  appear  that  he  duly  estimated 
the  importance  of  the  event  they  were  commemo- 
rating, yet  was  not  of  a  habit  of  mind  that  over- 
estimated anything. 


15     B.  D. 


CHAPTER   VII. 


A  Strange  Proposal. 

<J  HE  week  of  celebration  was  over: 
some  few  guests  remained,  near 
relatives,  and  not  very  rich,  the 
Montacute  Mountjoys,  for  exam- 
ple. They  came  from  a  considerable 
distance,  and  the  duke  insisted  that 
they  should  remain  until  the  duchess  went  to  Lon- 
don, an  event,  by-the-bye,  which  was  to  occur  very 
speedily.  Lady  Eleanor  was  rather  agreeable,  and  the 
duchess  a  little  liked  her;  there  were  four  daughters, 
to  be  sure,  and  not  very  lively,  but  they  sang  in  the 
evening. 

It  was  a  bright  morning,  and  the  duchess,  with  a 
heart  prophetic  of  happiness,  wished  to  disburthen  it 
to  her  son;  she  meant  to  propose  to  him,  therefore,  to 
be  her  companion  in  her  walk,  and  she  had  sent 
to  his  rooms  in  vain,  and  was  inquiring  after  him, 
when  she  was  informed  that  'Lord  Montacute  was 
with  his  Grace.' 

A  smile  of  satisfaction  flitted  over  her  face,  as  she 
recalled  the  pleasant  cause  of  the  conference  that  was 
now  taking  place  between  the  father  and  the  son. 
Let  us  see  how  it  advanced. 
(56) 


TANCRED  57 

The  duke  is  in  his  private  library,  consisting  chiefly 
of  the  statutes  at  large,  Hansard,  the  Annual  Register, 
Parliamentary  Reports,  and  legal  treatises  on  the 
powers  and  duties  of  justices  of  the  peace.  A  por- 
trait of  his  mother  is  over  the  mantel-piece:  opposite 
it  a  huge  map  of  the  county.  His  correspondence  on 
public  business  with  the  secretary  of  state,  and  the 
various  authorities  of  the  shire,  is  admirably  arranged: 
for  the  duke  was  what  is  called  an  excellent  man  of 
business,  that  is  to  say,  methodical,  and  an  adept  in 
all  the  small  arts  of  routine.  These  papers  were  de- 
posited, after  having  been  ticketed  with  a  date  and  a 
summary  of  their  contents,  and  tied  with  much  tape, 
in  a  large  cabinet,  which  occupied  nearly  one  side  of 
the  room,  and  on  the  top  of  which  were  busts  in 
marble  of  Mr.  Pitt,  George  III.,  and  the  Duke  of  Wel- 
lington. 

The  duke  was  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  which  it 
seemed,  from  his  air  and  position,  he  had  pushed 
back  somewhat  suddenly  from  his  writing  table,  and 
an  expression  of  painful  surprise,  it  cannot  be  denied, 
dwelt  on  his  countenance.  Lord  Montacute  was  on 
his  legs,  leaning  with  his  left  arm  on  the  chimney- 
piece,  very  serious,  and,  if  possible,  paler  than  usual. 

'You  take  me  quite  by  surprise,'  said  the  duke; 
'  1  thought  it  was  an  arrangement  that  would  have 
deeply  gratified  you.' 

Lord  Montacute  slightly  bowed  his  head,  but  said 
nothing.     His  father  continued. 

'Not  wish  to  enter  Parliament  at  present!  Why, 
that  is  all  very  well,  and  if,  as  was  once  the  case, 
we  could  enter  Parliament  when  we  liked,  and  how 
we  liked,  the  wish  might  be  very  reasonable.  If  I 
could  ring  my  bell,  and  return  you  member  for  Mon- 


58  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

tacute  with  as  much  ease  as  I  could  send  over  to 
Bellamont  to  engage  a  special  train  to  take  us  to 
town,  you  might  be  justified  in  indulging  a  fancy. 
But  how  and  when,  I  should  like  to  know,  are  you 
to  enter  Parliament  now?  This  Parliament  will  last: 
it  will  go  on  to  the  lees.  Lord  Eskdale  told  me  so 
not  a  week  ago.  Well  then,  at  any  rate,  you  lose 
three  years:  for  three  years  you  are  an  idler.  I  never 
thought  that  was  your  character.  I  have  always  had 
an  impression  you  would  turn  your  mind  to  public 
business,  that  the  county  might  look  up  to  you.  If 
you  have  what  are  called  higher  views,  you  should 
not  forget  there  is  a  great  opening  now  in  public  life, 
which  may  not  offer  again.  The  Duke  is  resolved  to 
give  the  preference,  in  carrying  on  the  business  of  the 
country,  to  the  aristocracy.  He  believes  this  is  our 
only  means  of  preservation.  He  told  me  so  himself. 
If  it  be  so,  I  fear  we  are  doomed.  I  hope  we  may 
be  of  some  use  to  our  country  without  being  minis- 
ters of  state.  But  let  that  pass.  As  long  as  the  Duke 
lives,  he  is  omnipotent,  and  will  have  his  way.  If 
you  come  into  Parliament  now,  and  show  any  dispo- 
sition for  office,  you  may  rely  upon  it  you  will  not 
long  be  unemployed.  I  have  no  doubt  I  could  arrange 
that  you  should  move  the  address  of  next  session.  I 
dare  say  Lord  Eskdale  could  manage  this,  and,  if  he 
could  not,  though  I  abhor  asking  a  minister  for  any- 
thing, I  should,  under  the  circumstances,  feel  perfectly 
justified  in  speaking  to  the  Duke  on  the  subject  my- 
self, and,'  added  his  Grace,  in  a  lowered  tone,  but 
with  an  expression  of  great  earnestness  and  determi- 
nation, 'I  flatter  myself  that  if  the  Duke  of  Bellamont 
chooses  to  express  a  wish,  it  would  not  be  disre- 
garded.' 


TANCRED 


59 


Lord  Montacute  cast  his  dark,  intelligent  eyes  upon 
the  floor,  and  seemed  plunged  in  thought, 

'Besides,'  added  the  duke,  after  a  moment's  pause, 
and  inferring,  from  the  silence  of  his  son,  that  he  was 
making  an  impression,  'suppose  Hungerford  is  not  in 
the  same  humour  this  time  three  years  which  he  is 
in  now.  Probably  he  may  be;  possibly  he  may  not. 
Men  do  not  like  to  be  baulked  when  they  think  they 
are  doing  a  very  kind  and  generous  and  magnani- 
mous thing.  Hungerford  is  not  a  warming-pan;  we 
must  remember  that;  he  never  was  originally,  and  if 
he  had  been,  he  has  been  member  for  the  county  too 
long  to  be  so  considered  now.  I  should  be  placed  in 
a  most  painful  position,  if,  this  time  three  years,  I  had 
to  withdraw  my  support  from  Hungerford,  in  order 
to  secure  your  return.' 

'There  would  be  no  necessity,  under  any  circum- 
stances, for  that,  my  dear  father,'  said  Lord  Monta- 
cute, looking  up,  and  speaking  in  a  voice  which, 
though  somewhat  low,  was  of  that  organ  that  at 
once  arrests  attention;  a  voice  that  comes  alike  from 
the  brain  and  from  the  heart,  and  seems  made  to 
convey  both  profound  thought  and  deep  emotion. 
There  is  no  index  of  character  so  sure  as  the  voice. 
There  are  tones,  tones  brilliant  and  gushing,  which  im- 
part a  quick  and  pathetic  sensibility:  there  are  others 
that,  deep  and  yet  calm,  seem  the  just  interpreters  of 
a  serene  and  exalted  intellect.  But  the  rarest  and  the 
most  precious  of  all  voices  is  that  which  combines 
passion  and  repose;  and  whose  rich  and  restrained 
tones  exercise,  perhaps,  on  the  human  frame  a  stronger 
spell  than  even  the  fascination  of  the  eye,  or  that  be- 
witching influence  of  the  hand,  which  is  the  privilege 
of  the  higher  races  of  Asia. 


6o  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'There  would  be  no  necessity,  under  any  circum- 
stances, for  that,  my  dear  father,'  said  Lord  Monta- 
cute,  'for,  to  be  frank,  I  believe  I  should  feel  as  little 
disposed  to  enter  Parliament  three  years  hence  as 
now.' 

The  duke  looked  still  more  surprised.  '  Mr.  Fox 
was  not  of  age  when  he  took  his  seat,'  said  his  Grace. 
'You  know  how  old  Mr.  Pitt  was  when  he  was  a 
minister.  Sir  Robert,  too,  was  in  harness  very  early. 
I  have  always  heard  the  good  judges  say.  Lord  Esk- 
dale,  for  example,  that  a  man  might  speak  in  Parlia- 
ment too  soon,  but  it  was  impossible  to  go  in  too 
soon.' 

'If  he  wished  to  succeed  in  that  assembly,'  replied 
Lord  Montacute,  '  I  can  easily  believe  it.  In  all  things 
an  early  initiation  must  be  of  advantage.  But  1  have 
not  that  wish.' 

'I  don't  like  to  see  a  man  take  his  seat  in  the 
House  of  Lords  who  has  not  been  in  the  House  of 
Commons.  He  seems  to  me  always,  in  a  manner, 
unfledged.' 

'It  will  be  a  long  time,  I  hope,  my  dear  father, 
before  I  take  my  seat  in  the  House  of  Lords,'  said 
Lord  Montacute,   'if,  indeed,  I  ever  do.' 

'In  the  course  of  nature  'tis  a  certainty.' 

'Suppose  the  Duke's  plan  for  perpetuating  an  aris- 
tocracy do  not  succeed,'  said  Lord  Montacute,  'and 
our  house  ceases  to  exist.?' 

His  father  shrugged  his  shoulders.  'It  is  not  our 
business  to  suppose  that.  I  hope  it  never  will  be  the 
business  of  any  one,  at  least  seriously.  This  is  a 
great  country,  and  it  has  become  great  by  its  aristoc- 
racy.' 

'You  think,  then,  our  sovereigns    did    nothing  for 


TANCRED  6i 

our  greatness,  —  Queen  Elizabeth,  for  example,  of 
whose  visit  to  Montacute  you  are  so  proud?' 

'They  performed  their  part.' 

'And  have  ceased  to  exist.  We  may  have  per- 
formed our  part,  and  may  meet  the  same  fate.' 

'Why,  you  are  talking  liberalism!' 

'  Hardly  that,  my  dear  father,  for  I  have  not  ex- 
pressed an  opinion.' 

'  1  wish  I  knew  what  your  opinions  were,  my  dear 
boy,  or  even  your  wishes.' 

'Well,  then,  to  do  my  duty.' 

'Exactly;  you  are  a  pillar  of  the  State;  support  the 
State.' 

'Ah!  if  any  one  would  but  tell  me  what  the  State 
is,'  said  Lord  Montacute,  sighing.  'It  seems  to  me 
your  pillars  remain,  but  they  support  nothing;  in  that 
case,  though  the  shafts  may  be  perpendicular,  and  the 
capitals  very  ornate,  they  are  no  longer  props,  they 
are  a  ruin.' 

'  You  would  hand  us  over,  then,  to  the  ten- 
pounders  ?' 

'They  do  not  even  pretend  to  be  a  State,'  said 
Lord  Montacute;  'they  do  not  even  profess  to  sup- 
port anything;  on  the  contrary,  the  essence  of  their 
philosophy  is,  that  nothing  is  to  be  established,  and 
everything  is  to  be  left  to  itself.' 

'  The  common  sense  of  this  country  and  the  fifty 
pound  clause  will  carry  us  through,'  said  the  duke. 

'Through  what?'  inquired  his  son. 

'This  —  this  state  of  transition,'  replied  his  father. 

'A  passage  to  what?' 

'Ah!  that  is  a  question  the  wisest  cannot  answer.' 

'But  into  which  the  weakest,  among  whom  I  class 
myself,  have  surely  a  right  to  inquire.' 


62  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'Unquestionably;  and  I  know  nothing  that  will 
tend  more  to  assist  you  in  your  researches  than  act- 
ing with  practical  men.' 

'And  practising  all  their  blunders,'  said  Lord  Mon- 
tacute.  '  I  can  conceive  an  individual  who  has  once 
been  entrapped  into  their  haphazard  courses,  continu- 
ing in  the  fatal  confusion  to  which  he  has  contributed 
his  quota;  but  I  am  at  least  free,  and  1  wish  to  con- 
tinue so.' 

'And  do  nothing.?' 

'  But  does  it  follow  that  a  man  is  infirm  of  action 
because  he  declines  fighting  in  the  dark?' 

'And  how  would  you  act,  then.?  What  are  your 
plans?     Have  you  any?' 

'1  have.' 

'Well,  that  is  satisfactory,'  said  the  duke,  with 
animation.  'Whatever  they  are,  you  know  you  may 
count  upon  my  doing  everything  that  is  possible  to 
forward  your  wishes.  I  know  they  cannot  be  un- 
worthy ones,  for  I  believe,  my  child,  you  are  incapa- 
ble of  a  thought  that  is  not  good  or  great.' 

'1  wish  1  knew  what  was  good  and  great,'  said 
Lord  Montacute;    '1  would  struggle  to  accomplish  it.' 

'But  you  have  formed  some  views;  you  have 
some  plans.  Speak  to  me  of  them,  and  without  re- 
serve; as  to  a  friend,  the  most  affectionate,  the  most 
devoted.' 

'My  father,'  said  Lord  Montacute,  and  moving,  he 
drew  a  chair  to  the  table,  and  seated  himself  by  the 
duke,  'you  possess  and  have  a  right  to  my  confi- 
dence. I  ought  not  to  have  said  that  1  doubted  about 
what  was  good;  for  I  know  you.' 

'Sons  like  you  make  good  fathers.' 

'It  is  not  always  so,'  said    Lord    Montacute;    'you 


TANCRED  63 

have  been  to  me  more  than  a  father,  and  1  bear  to 
you  and  to  my  mother  a  profound  and  fervent  affec- 
tion; an  affection,'  he  added,  in  a  faltering  tone, 
'that  is  rarer,  I  believe,  in  this  age  than  it  was  in 
old  days.  1  feel  it  at  this  moment  more  deeply,'  he 
continued,  in  a  firmer  tone,  'because  I  am  about  to 
propose  that  we  should  for  a  time  separate.' 

The  duke  turned  pale,  and  leant  forward  in  his 
chair,  but  did  not  speak. 

'You  have  proposed  to  me  to-day,'  continued 
Lord  Montacute,  after  a  momentary  pause,  'to  enter 
public  life.  I  do  not  shrink  from  its  duties.  On  the 
contrary,  from  the  position  in  which  I  am  born,  still 
more  from  the  impulse  of  my  nature,  I  am  desirous 
to  fulfil  them.  1  have  meditated  on  them,  I  may  say, 
even  for  years.  But  I  cannot  find  that  it  is  part  of 
my  duty  to  maintain  the  order  of  things,  for  1  will  not  call 
it  system,  which  at  present  prevails  in  our  country.  It 
seems  to  me  that  it  cannot  last,  as  nothing  can  endure, 
or  ought  to  endure,  that  is  not  founded  upon  principle; 
and  its  principle  1  have  not  discovered.  In  nothing, 
whether  it  be  religion,  or  government,  or  manners, 
sacred  or  political  or  social  life,  do  I  find  faith;  and 
if  there  be  no  faith,  how  can  there  be  duty  ?  Is  there 
such  a  thing  as  religious  truth  ?  Is  there  such  a  thing 
as  political  right?  Is  there  such  a  thing  as  social 
propriety  ?  Are  these  facts,  or  are  they  mere  phrases  ? 
And  if  they  be  facts,  where  are  they  likely  to  be 
found  in  England.?  Is  truth  in  our  Church.?  Why, 
then,  do  you  support  dissent  ?  Who  has  the  right  to 
govern?  The  monarch?  You  have  robbed  him  of 
his  prerogative.  The  aristocracy  ?  You  confess  to 
me  that  we  exist  by  sufferance.  The  people  ?  They 
themselves  tell  you  that  they  are  nullities.     Every  ses- 


64  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

sion  of  that  Parliament  in  which  you  wish  to  intro- 
duce me,  the  method  by  which  power  is  distributed 
is  called  in  question,  altered,  patched  up,  and  again 
impugned.  As  for  our  morals,  tell  me,  is  charity  the 
supreme  virtue,  or  the  greatest  of  errors  ?  Our  social 
system  ought  to  depend  on  a  clear  conception  of 
this  point.  Our  morals  differ  in  different  counties, 
in  different  towns,  in  different  streets,  even  in  differ- 
ent Acts  of  Parliament.  What  is  moral  in  London  is 
immoral  in  Montacute;  what  is  crime  among  the 
multitude  is  only  vice  among  the  few.' 

'You  are  going  into  first  principles,'  said  the  duke, 
much  surprised. 

'Give  me  then  second  principles,'  replied  his  son; 
'give  me  any.' 

'We  must  take  a  general  view  of  things  to  form 
an  opinion,'  said  his  father,  mildly.  'The  general 
condition  of  England  is  superior  to  that  of  any  other 
country;  it  cannot  be  denied  that,  on  the  whole, 
there  is  more  political  freedom,  more  social  happi- 
ness, more  sound  religion,  and  more  material  pros- 
perity among  us,  than  in  any  nation  in  the  world.' 

'I  might  question  all  that,' said  his  son;  'but  they 
are  considerations  that  do  not  affect  my  views.  If 
other  States  are  worse  than  we  are,  and  I  hope  they  are 
not,  our  condition  is  not  mended,  but  the  contrary, 
for  we  then   need   the   salutary  stimulus  of  example.' 

'There  is  no  sort  of  doubt,'  said  the  duke,  'that 
the  state  of  England  at  this  moment  is  the  most 
flourishing  that  has  ever  existed,  certainly  in  modern 
times.  What  with  these  railroads,  even  the  condition 
of  the  poor,  which  I  admit  was  lately  far  from  satis- 
factory, is  infinitely  improved.  Every  man  has  work 
who  needs  it,  and  wages  are  even  high.' 


TANCRED  6s 

'The  railroads  may  have  improved,  in  a  certain 
sense,  the  condition  of  the  working  classes  almost  as 
much  as  that  of  members  of  Parliament.  They  have 
been  a  good  thing  for  both  of  them.  And  if  you 
think  that  more  labour  is  all  that  is  wanted  by  the 
people  of  England,  we  may  be  easy  for  a  time.  I  see 
nothing  in  this  fresh  development  of  material  industry, 
but  fresh  causes  of  moral  deterioration.  You  have  an- 
nounced to  the  millions  that  there  welfare  is  to  be 
tested  by  the  amount  of  their  wages.  Money  is  to 
be  the  cupel  of  their  worth,  as  it  is  of  all  other 
classes.  You  propose  for  their  conduct  the  least  en- 
nobling of  all  impulses.  If  you  have  seen  an  aristocracy 
invariably  become  degraded  under  such  influence;  if 
all  the  vices  of  a  middle  class  may  be  traced  to  such 
an  absorbing  motive;  why  are  we  to  believe  that  the 
people  should  be  more  pure,  or  that  they  should  escape 
the  catastrophe  of  the  policy  that  confounds  the  happi- 
ness with  the  wealth  of  nations.?' 

The  duke  shook  his  head  and  then  said,  'You 
should  not  forget  we  live  in  an  artificial   state.' 

'So  I  often  hear,  sir,'  replied  his  son;  'but  where 
is  the  art?  It  seems  to  me  the  very  quality  wanting 
to  our  present  condition.  Art  is  order,  method,  har- 
monious results  obtained  by  fine  and  powerful  prin- 
ciples. 1  see  no  art  in  our  condition.  The  people  of 
this  country  have  ceased  to  be  a  nation.  They  are  a 
crowd,  and  only  kept  in  some  rude  provisional  dis- 
cipline by  the  remains  of  that  old  system  which  they 
are  daily  destroying.' 

'But  what  would  you  do,  my  dear  boy?'  said  his 
Grace,  looking  up  very  distressed.  'Can  you  remedy 
the  state  of  things  in  which  we  find  ourselves?' 

'I  am  not  a  teacher,'  said  Lord  Montacute,  mourn- 


66  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

fully;  'I  only  ask  you,  I  supplicate  you,  my  dear 
father,  to  save  me  from  contributing  to  this  quick 
corruption  that  surrounds  us,' 

'You  shall  be  master  of  your  own  actions.  I  of- 
fer you  counsel,  I  give  no  commands;  and,  as  for  the 
rest.   Providence  will  guard  us.' 

Mf  an  angel  would  but  visit  our  house  as  he  visited 
the  house  of  Lot!'  said  Montacute,  in  a  tone  almost  of 
anguish. 

'Angels  have  performed  their  part,'  said  the  duke. 
'We  have  received  instructions  from  one  higher  than 
angels.     It  is  enough  for  all  of  us.' 

'It  is  not  enough  for  me,'  said  Lord  Montacute, 
with  a  glowing  cheek,  and  rising  abruptly.  '  It  was 
not  enough  for  the  Apostles;  for  though  they  listened 
to  the  sermon  on  the  mount,  and  partook  of  the  first 
communion,  it  was  still  necessary  that  He  should  ap- 
pear to  them  again,  and  promise  them  a  Comforter. 
I  require  one,'  he  added,  after  a  momentary  pause, 
but  in  an  agitated  voice,  '1  must  seek  one.  Yes!  my 
dear  father,  it  is  of  this  that  1  would  speak  to  you;  it 
is  this  which  for  a  long  time  has  oppressed  my  spirit, 
and  filled  me  often  with  intolerable  gloom.  We  must 
separate.  I  must  leave  you,  I  must  leave  that  dear 
mother,  those  beloved  parents,  in  whom  are  con- 
centred all  my  earthly  affections;  but  1  obey  an  im- 
pulse that  1  believe  comes  from  above.  Dearest  and 
best  of  men,  you  will  not  thwart  me;  you  will  for- 
give, you  v/ill  aid  me!'  And  he  advanced  and  threw 
himself  into  the  arms  of  his  father. 

The  duke  pressed  Lord  Montacute  to  his  heart, 
and  endeavoured,  though  himself  agitated  and  much 
distressed,  to  penetrate  the  mystery  of  this  ebullition. 
'He   says   we    must   separate,'    thought   the   duke    to 


TANCRED  67 

himself.  'Ah!  he  has  lived  too  much  at  home,  too 
much  alone;  he  has  read  and  pondered  too  much;  he 
has  moped.  Eskdale  was  right  two  years  ago.  I 
wish  I  had  sent  him  to  Paris,  but  his  mother  was  so 
alarmed;  and,  indeed,  'tis  a  precious  life!  The  House 
of  Commons  would  have  been  just  the  thing  for  him. 
He  would  have  worked  on  committees  and  grown 
practical.  But  something  must  be  done  for  him,  dear 
child!  He  says  we  must  separate;  he  wants  to 
travel.  And  perhaps  he  ought  to  travel.  But  a  life 
on  which  so  much  depends!  And  what  will  Kath- 
erine  say?  It  will  kill  her.  I  could  screw  myself  up 
to  it.  I  would  send  him  well  attended.  Brace  should 
go  with  him;  he  understands  the  Continent;  he  was 
in  the  Peninsular  war;  and  he  should  have  a  skilful 
physician.  I  see  how  it  is;  1  must  act  with  decision, 
and  break  it  to  his  mother.' 

These  ideas  passed  through  the  duke's  mind  dur- 
ing the  few  seconds  that  he  embraced  his  son,  and 
endeavoured  at  the  same  time  to  convey  consolation 
by  the  expression  of  his  affection,  and  his  anxiety  at 
all  times  to  contribute  to  his  child's  happiness. 

'My  dear  son,'  said  the  duke,  when  Lord  Monta- 
cute  had  resumed  his  seat,  'I  see  how  it  is;  you 
wish  to  travel  ? ' 

Lord  Montacute  bent  his  head,  as  if  in  assent. 

'It  will  be  a  terrible  blow  to  your  mother;  I  say 
nothing  of  myself.  You  know  what  I  feel  for  you. 
But  neither  your  mother  nor  myself  have  a  right  to 
place  our  feelings  in  competition  with  any  arrange- 
ment for  your  welfare.  It  would  be  in  the  highest 
degree  selfish  and  unreasonable;  and  perhaps  it  will 
be  well  for  you  to  travel  awhile;  and,  as  for  Parlia- 
ment, I  am  to  see  Hungerford  this  morning  at  Bella- 


68  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

mont.  I  will  try  and  arrange  with  him  to  postpone 
his  resignation  until  the  autumn,  or,  if  possible,  for 
some  little  time  longer.  You  will  then  have  accom- 
plished your  purpose.  It  will  do  you  a  great  deal  of 
good.  You  will  have  seen  the  world,  and  you  can 
take  your  seat  next  year.' 

The  duke  paused.  Lord  Montacute  looked  per- 
plexed and  distressed;  he  seemed  about  to  reply,  and 
then,  leaning  on  the  table,  with  his  face  concealed 
from  his  father,  he  maintained  his  silence.  The  duke 
rose,  looked  at  his  watch,  said  he  must  be  at  Bella- 
mont  by  two  o'clock,  hoped  that  Brace  would  dine 
at  the  castle  to-day,  thought  it  not  at  all  impossible 
Brace  might,  would  send  on  to  Montacute  for  him, 
perhaps  might  meet  him  at  Bellamont.  Brace  under- 
stood the  Continent,  spoke  several  languages,  Spanish 
among  them,  though  it  was  not  probable  his  son 
would  have  any  need  of  that,  the  present  state  of 
Spain  not  being  very  inviting  to  the  traveller. 

'As  for  France,'  said  the  duke,  'France  is  Paris,  and 
I  suppose  that  will  be  your  first  step;  it  generally  is. 
We  must  see  if  your  cousin,  Henry  Howard,  is  there. 
If  so,  he  will  put  you  in  the  way  of  everything. 
With  the  embassy  and  Brace,  you  would  manage 
very  well  at  Paris.  Then,  I  suppose,  you  would  like 
to  go  to  Italy;  that,  I  apprehend,  is  your  great  point. 
Your  mother  will  not  like  your  going  to  Rome.  Still, 
at  the  same  time,  a  man,  they  say,  should  see  Rome 
before  he  dies.  I  never  did.  I  have  never  crossed 
the  sea  except  to  go  to  Ireland.  Your  grandfather 
would  never  let  me  travel;  I  wanted  to,  but  he  never 
would.  Not,  however,  for  the  same  reasons  which 
have  kept  you  at  home.  Suppose  you  even  winter  at 
Rome,  which  I  believe   is  the    right  thing,  why,  you 


TANCRED  69 

might  very  well  be  back  by  the  spring.  However, 
we  must  manage  your  mother  a  little  about  remain- 
ing over  the  winter,  and,  on  second  thoughts,  we 
will  get  Bernard  to  go  with  you,  as  well  as  Brace 
and  a  physician,  and  then  she  will  be  much  more 
easy.  I  think,  with  Brace,  Bernard,  and  a  medical 
man  whom  we  can  really  trust,  Harry  Howard  at 
Paris,  and  the  best  letters  for  every  other  place, 
which  we  will  consult  Lord  Eskdale  about,  I  think 
the  danger  will  not  be  extreme.' 

'  I  have  no  wish  to  see  Paris,'  said  Lord  Montacute, 
evidently  embarrassed,  and  making  a  great  effort  to 
relieve  his  mind  of  some  burthen.  '  I  have  no  wish 
to  see  Paris.' 

'I  am  very  glad  to  hear  that,'  said  his  father, 
eagerly. 

'Nor  do  I  wish  either  to  go  to  Rome,'  continued 
his  son. 

'  Well,  well,  you  have  taken  a  load  off  my  mind, 
my  dear  boy.  1  would  not  confess  it,  because  I  wish 
to  save  you  pain;  but  really,  I  believe  the  idea  of 
your  going  to  Rome  would  have  been  a  serious  shock 
to  your  mother.  It  is  not  so  much  the  distance, 
though  that  is  great,  nor  the  climate,  which  has  its 
dangers,    but,    you     understand,     with     her     peculiar 

views,  her    very  strict '     The    duke   did  not   care 

to  finish  his  sentence. 

'Nor,  my  dear  father,'  continued  Lord  Montacute, 
'though  I  did  not  like  to  interrupt  you  when  you 
were  speaking  with  so  much  solicitude  and  consid- 
eration for  me,  is  it  exactly  travel,  in  the  common 
acceptation  of  the  term,  that  I  feel  the  need  of.  I 
wish,  indeed,  to  leave  England;  I  wish  to  make  an 
expedition;  a  progress  to  a    particular   point;    without 


70  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

wandering,  without  any  intervening  residence.  In  a 
word,  it  is  the  Holy  Land  that  occupies  my  thought, 
and  1  propose  to  make  a  pilgrimage  to  the  sepulchre 
of  my  Saviour.' 

The  duke  started,  and  sank  again  into  his  chair. 
'The  Holy  Land!  The  Holy  Sepulchre!'  he  exclaimed, 
and  repeated  to  himself,  staring  at  his  son. 

'Yes,  sir,  the  Holy  Sepulchre,'  repeated  Lord  Mon- 
tacute,  and  now  speaking  with  his  accustomed  re- 
pose. 'When  1  remember  that  the  Creator,  since 
light  sprang  out  of  darkness,  has  deigned  to  reveal 
Himself  to  His  creature  only  in  one  land,  that  in  that 
land  He  assumed  a  manly  form,  and  met  a  human 
death,  1  feel  persuaded  that  the  country  sanctified  by 
such  intercourse  and  such  events  must  be  endowed 
with  marvellous  and  peculiar  qualities,  which  man 
may  not  in  all  ages  be  competent  to  penetrate,  but 
which,  nevertheless,  at  all  times  exercise  an  irresisti- 
ble influence  upon  his  destiny.  It  is  these  qualities 
that  many  times  drew  Europe  to  Asia  during  the 
middle  centuries.  Our  castle  has  before  this  sent 
forth  a  De  Montacute  to  Palestine.  For  three  days 
and  three  nights  he  knelt  at  the  tomb  of  his  Re- 
deemer. Six  centuries  and  more  have  elapsed  since 
that  great  enterprise.  It  is  time  to  restore  and  reno- 
vate our  communications  with  the  Most  High.  I, 
too,  would  kneel  at  that  tomb;  1,  too,  surrounded 
by  the  holy  hills  and  sacred  groves  of  Jerusalem, 
would  relieve  my  spirit  from  the  bale  that  bows  it 
down;  would  lift  up  my  voice  to  heaven,  and  ask. 
What  is  duty,  and  what  is  faith.?  What  ought  I  to 
do,  and  what  ought  I  to  believe.?' 

The  Duke  of  Bellamont  rose  from  his  seat,  and 
walked  up  and  down  the  room  for  some  minutes,   in 


TANCRED  71 

silence  and  in  deep  thought.  At  length,  stopping  and 
leaning  against  the  cabinet,  he  said,  'What  has  oc- 
curred to-day  between  us,  my  beloved  child,  is,  you 
may  easily  believe,  as  strange  to  me  as  it  is  agita- 
ting. 1  will  think  of  all  you  have  said;  I  will  try  to 
comprehend  all  you  mean  and  wish.  I  will  endeavour 
to  do  that  which  is  best  and  wisest;  placing  above 
all  things  your  happiness,  and  not  our  own.  At  this 
moment  I  am  not  competent  to  the  task:  I  need 
quiet,  and  to  be  alone.  Your  mother,  I  know,  wishes 
to  walk  with  you  this  morning.  She  may  be  speak- 
ing to  you  of  many  things.  Be  silent  upon  this  sub- 
ject, until  1  have  communicated  with  her.  At  present 
I  will  ride  over  to  Bellamont.  I  must  go;  and,  be- 
sides, it  will  do  me  good.  1  never  can  think  very 
well  except  in  the  saddle.  If  Brace  comes,  make  him 
dine  here.     God  bless  you.' 

The  duke  left  the  room;  his  son  remained  in  med- 
itation. The  first  step  was  taken.  He  had  poured 
into  the  interview  of  an  hour  the  results  of  three 
years  of  solitary  thought.  A  sound  roused  him;  it 
was  his  mother.  She  had  only  learnt  casually  that 
the  duke  was  gone;  she  was  surprised  he  had  not 
come  into  her  room  before  he  went;  it  seemed  the 
first  time  since  their  marriage  that  the  duke  had  gone 
out  without  first  coming  to  speak  to  her.  So  she 
went  to  seek  her  son,  to  congratulate  him  on  being 
a  member  of  Parliament,  on  representing  the  county 
of  which  they  were  so  fond,  and  of  breaking  to  him 
a  proposition  which  she  doubted  not  he  would  find 
not  less  interesting  and  charming.  Happy  mother, 
with  her  only  son,  on  whom  she  doted  and  of  whom 
she  was  so  justly  proud,  about  to  enter  public  life  in 
which   he   was    sure    to    distinguish    himself,    and    to 

15     B.  D.  — iS 


72  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

marry  a  woman  who  was  sure  to  make  him  happy! 
With  a  bounding  heart  the  duchess  opened  the  library 
door,  where  she  had  been  informed  she  should  find 
Lord  Montacute.  She  had  her  bonnet  on,  ready  for 
the  walk  of  confidence,  and,  her  face  flushed  with 
delight,  she  looked  even  beautiful.  *Ah!'  she  ex- 
claimed,  'I  have  been  looking  for  you,  Tancred!' 


CHAPTER    VIII. 
The  Decision. 

HE  duke  returned  rather  late  from 
Bellamont,  and  went  immediately  to 
his  dressing-room.  A  few  minutes 
before  dinner  the  duchess  knocked 
at  his  door  and  entered.  She 
seemed  disconcerted,  and  reminded 
him,  though  with  great  gentleness,  that  he  had  gone 
out  to-day  without  first  bidding  her  adieu;  she  really 
believed  it  was  the  only  time  he  had  done  so  since 
their  marriage.  The  duke,  who,  when  she  entered, 
anticipated  something  about  their  son,  was  relieved 
by  her  remark,  embraced  her,  and  would  have  af- 
fected a  gaiety  which  he  did  not  really  feel. 

'  I  am  glad  to  hear  that  Brace  dines  here  to-day, 
Kate,  for  1  particularly  wanted  to  see  him.' 

The  duchess  did  not  reply,  and  seemed  absent; 
the  duke,  to  say  something,  tying  his  cravat,  kept 
harping  upon  Brace. 

'Never  mind  Brace,  George,'  said  the  duchess; 
'tell  me  what  is  this  about  Tancred  ?  Why  is  his 
coming  into  Parliament  put  off?' 

The  duke  was  perplexed;  he  wished  to  know  how 
far  at  this  moment  his  wife  was  informed  upon  the 
matter;  the  feminine  frankness  of  the  duchess  put  him 

(73) 


74  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

out  of  suspense.  '  I  have  been  walking  with  Tan- 
cred,'  she  continued,  'and  intimated,  but  with  great 
caution,  all  our  plans  and  hopes.  I  asked  him  what 
he  thought  of  his  cousin;  he  agrees  with  us  she  is 
by  far  the  most  charming  girl  he  knows,  and  one  of 
the  most  agreeable.  I  impressed  upon  him  how  good 
she  was.  I  wished  to  precipitate  nothing.  I  never 
dreamed  of  their  marrying  until  late  in  the  autumn. 
I  wished  him  to  become  acquainted  with  his  new 
life,  which  would  not  prevent  him  seeing  a  great 
deal  of  Katherine  in  London,  and  then  to  visit  them 
in  Ireland,  as  you  visited  us,  George;  and  then,  when 
I  was  settling  everything  in  the  most  delightful  man- 
ner, what  he  was  to  do  when  he  was  kept  up  very 
late  at  the  House,  which  is  the  only  part  1  don't  like, 
and  begging  him  to  be  very  strict  in  making  his 
servant  always  have  coffee  ready  for  him,  very  hot, 
and  a  cold  fowl  too,  or  something  of  the  sort,  he 
tells  me,  to  my  infinite  astonishment,  that  the  vacancy 
will  not  immediately  occur,  that  he  is  not  sorry  for  it, 
as  he  thinks  it  may  be  as  well  that  he  should  go 
abroad.  What  can  all  this  mean?  Pray  tell  me;  for 
Tancred  has  told  me  nothing,  and,  when  I  pressed 
him,  waived  the  subject,  and  said  we  would  all  of  us 
consult  together,' 

'And  so  we  will,  Kate,'  said  the  duke,  'but 
hardly  at  this  moment,  for  dinner  must  be  almost 
served.  To  be  brief,'  he  added,  speaking  in  a  light 
tone,  'there  are  reasons  which  perhaps  may  make  it 
expedient  that  Hungerford  should  not  resign  at  the 
present  moment;  and  as  Tancred  has  a  fancy  to  travel 
n  little,  it  may  be  as  v/ell  that  we  should  take  it  into 
consideration  whether  he  might  not  profitably  occupy 
the  interval  in  this  manner.' 


TANCRED  75 

'  Profitably! '  said  the  duchess.  '  I  never  can  under- 
stand how  going  to  Paris  and  Rome,  which  young 
men  always  mean  when  they  talk  of  travelling,  can  be 
profitable  to  him;  it  is  the  very  thing  which,  all  my 
life,  I  have  been  endeavouring  to  prevent.  His  body 
and  his  soul  will  be  both  imperilled;  Paris  will  de- 
stroy his  constitution,  and  Rome,  perhaps,  change 
his  faith.' 

'  I  have  more  confidence  in  his  physical  power  and 
his  religious  principle  than  you,  Kate,'  said  the  duke, 
smiling.  'But  make  yourself  easy  on  these  heads; 
Tancred  told  me  this  morning  that  he  had  no  wish 
to  visit  either  Rome  or  Paris.' 

'Well!'  exclaimed  the  duchess,  somewhat  relieved, 
'if  he  wants  to  make  a  little  tour  in  Holland,  I  think 
1  could  bear  it;  it  is  a  Protestant  country,  and  there 
are  no  vermin.  And  then  those  dear  Disbrowes,  I  am 
sure,  would  take  care  of  him  at  The  Hague.' 

'We  will  talk  of  all  this  to-night,  my  love,'  said 
the  duke;  and  offering  his  arm  to  his  wife,  who  was 
more  composed,  if  not  more  cheerful,  they  descended 
to  their  guests. 

Colonel  Brace  was  there,  to  the  duke's  great  satis- 
faction. The  colonel  had  served  as  a  cornet  in  a 
dragoon  regiment  in  the  last  campaign  of  the  Penin- 
sular war,  and  had  marched  into  Paris.  Such  an 
event  makes  an  indelible  impression  on  the  memory 
of  a  handsome  lad  of  seventeen,  and  the  colonel  had 
not  yet  finished  recounting  his  strange  and  fortunate 
adventures. 

He  was  tall,  robust,  a  little  portly,  but,  well 
buckled,  still  presented  a  grand  military  figure.  He 
was  what  you  call  a  fine  man;  florid,  with  still  a 
good  head  of  hair  though   touched   with   grey,  splen- 


76  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

did  moustaches,  large  fat  hands,  and  a  courtly  de- 
meanour not  unmixed  with  a  slight  swagger.  The 
colonel  was  a  Montacute  man,  and  had  inherited  a 
large  house  in  the  town  and  a  small  estate  in  the 
neighbourhood.  Having  sold  out,  he  had  retired  to 
his  native  place,  where  he  had  become  a  considerable 
personage.  The  duke  had  put  him  in  the  commis- 
sion, and  he  was  the  active  magistrate  of  the  district; 
he  had  reorganised  the  Bellamont  regiment  of  yeo- 
manry cavalry,  which  had  fallen  into  sad  decay  during 
the  late  duke's  time,  but  which  now,  with  Brace  for 
its  lieutenant-colonel,  was  second  to  none  in  the  king- 
dom. Colonel  Brace  was  one  of  the  best  shots  in  the 
county;  certainly  the  boldest  rider  among  the  heavy 
weights;  and  bore  the  palm  from  all  with  the  rod, 
in  a  county  fiimous  for  its  feats  in  lake  and  river. 

The  colonel  was  a  man  of  great  energy,  of  good 
temper,  of  ready  resource,  frank,  a  little  coarse,  but 
hearty  and  honest.  He  adored  the  Duke  and  Duchess 
of  Bellamont.  He  was  sincere;  he  was  not  a  para- 
site; he  really  believed  that  they  were  the  best  peo- 
ple in  the  world,  and  I  am  not  sure  that  he  had 
not  some  foundation  for  his  faith.  On  the  whole, 
he  might  be  esteemed  the  duke's  right-hand  man. 
His  Grace  generally  consulted  the  colonel  on  county 
affairs;  the  command  of  the  yeomanry  alone  gave  him 
a  considerable  position;  he  was  the  chief  also  of  the 
militia  staff;  could  give  his  opinion  whether  a  person 
was  to  be  made  a  magistrate  or  not;  and  had  even 
been  called  into  council  when  there  was  a  question 
of  appointing  a  deputy-lieutenant.  The  colonel,  who 
was  a  leading  member  of  the  corporation  of  Monta- 
cute, had  taken  care  to  be  chosen  mayor  this  year; 
he  had  been  also  chairman  of  the  Committee  of  Man- 


TANCRED  77 

agement  during  the  celebration  of  Tancred's  majority; 
had  had  the  entire  ordering  of  the  fireworks,  and  was 
generally  supposed  to  have  given  the  design,  or  at 
least  the  leading  idea,  for  the  transparency. 

We  should  notice  also  Mr.  Bernard,  a  clergyman, 
and  recently  the  private  tutor  of  Lord  Montacute,  a 
good  scholar;  in  ecclesiastical  opinions,  what  is  called 
high  and  dry.  He  was  about  five-and-thirty;  well- 
looking,  bashful.  The  duke  intended  to  prefer  him  to 
a  living  when  one  was  vacant;  in  the  meantime  he 
remained  in  the  family,  and  at  present  discharged  the 
duties  of  chaplain  and  librarian  at  Montacute,  and  oc- 
casionally assisted  the  duke  as  private  secretary.  Of 
his  life,  one  third  had  been  passed  at  a  rural  home, 
and  the  rest  might  be  nearly  divided  between  school 
and  college. 

These  gentlemen,  the  distinguished  and  numerous 
family  of  the  Montacute  Mountjoys,  young  Hunger- 
ford,  whom  the  duke  had  good-naturedly  brought 
over  from  Bellamont  for  the  sake  of  the  young  ladies, 
the  duke  and  duchess,  and  their  son,  formed  the  party, 
which  presented  rather  a  contrast,  not  only  in  its 
numbers,  to  the  series  of  recent  banquets.  They  dined 
in  the  Montacute  chamber.  The  party,  without  in- 
tending it,  was  rather  dull  and  silent.  The  duchess 
was  brooding  over  the  disappointment  of  the  morn- 
ing; the  duke  trembled  for  the  disclosures  of  the  mor- 
row. The  Misses  Mountjoy  sang  better  than  they 
talked;  their  mother,  who  was  more  lively,  was  seated 
by  the  duke,  and  confined  her  powers  of  pleasing  to 
him.  The  Honourable  and  Reverend  Montacute  him- 
self was  an  epicure,  and  disliked  conversation  during 
dinner.  Lord  Montacute  spoke  to  Mr.  Hungerford 
across  the  table,  but  Mr.    Hungerford  was  whispering 


78  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

despairing  nothings  in  the  ear  of  Arabella  Mountjoy, 
and  replied  to  his  question  without  originating  any  in 
return,  which  of  course  terminates  talk. 

When  the  second  course  had  arrived,  the  duke, 
who  wanted  a  little  more  noise  and  distraction,  fired 
off  in  despair  a  shot  at  Colonel  Brace,  who  was  on 
the  left  hand  of  the  duchess,  and  set  him  on  his 
yeomanry  charger.  From  this  moment  affairs  im- 
proved. The  colonel  made  continual  charges,  and 
carried  all  before  him.  Nothing  could  be  more  noisy 
in  a  genteel  way.  His  voice  sounded  like  the  bray 
of  a  trumpet  amid  the  din  of  arms;  it  seemed  that  the 
moment  he  began,  everybody  and  everything  became 
animated  and  inspired  by  his  example.  All  talked; 
the  duke  set  them  the  fashion  of  taking  wine  with 
each  other;  Lord  Montacute  managed  to  entrap  Ar- 
minta  Mountjoy  into  a  narrative  in  detail  of  her  morn- 
ing's ride  and  adventures;  and,  affecting  scepticism  as 
to  some  of  the  incidents,  and  wonder  at  some  of  the 
feats,  produced  a  considerable  addition  to  the  general 
hubbub,  which  he  instinctively  felt  that  his  father 
wished  to  encourage. 

'I  don't  know  whether  it  was  the  Great  Western 
or  the  South  Eastern,'  continued  Colonel  Brace;  'but 
I  know  his  leg  is  broken.' 

'God  bless  me!'  said  the  duke;  'and  only  think  of 
my  not  hearing  of  it  at  Bellamont  to-day!' 

'I  don't  suppose  they  know  anything  about  it,' 
replied  the  colonel.  'The  way  I  know  it  is  this:  I 
was  with  Roby  to-day,  when  the  post  came  in,  and 
he  said  to  me,  "Here  is  a  letter  from  Lady  Malpas; 
I  hope  nothing  is  the  matter  with  Sir  Russell  or  any 
of  the  children,"  And  then  it  all  came  out.  The 
train    was    blown    up    behind;    Sir   Russell    was   in   a 


TANCRED  79 

centre  carriage,  and  was  pitched  right  into  a  field. 
They  took  him  into  an  inn,  put  him  to  bed,  and  sent 
for  some  of  the  top-sawyers  from  London,  Sir  Ben- 
jamin Brodie,  and  that  sort  of  thing;  and  the  moment 
Sir  Russell  came  to  himself,  he  said,  "I  must  have 
Roby,  send  for  Roby,  Roby  knows  my  constitution." 
And  they  sent  for  Roby.  And  I  think  he  was  right. 
The  quantity  of  young  officers  I  have  seen  sent  right- 
about in  the  Peninsula,  because  they  were  attended 
by  a  parcel  of  men  who  knew  nothing  of  their  con- 
stitution! Why,  I  might  have  lost  my  own  leg  once, 
if  1  had  not  been  sharp.  I  got  a  scratch  in  a  little 
affair  at  Almeidas,  charging  the  enemy  a  little  too 
briskly;  but  we  really  ought  not  to  speak  of  these 
things  before  the  ladies ' 

'My  dear  colonel,'  said  Lord  Montacute,  'on  the 
contrary,  there  is  nothing  more  interesting  to  them. 
Miss  Mountjoy  was  saying  only  yesterday,  that  there 
was  nothing  she  found  so  difficult  to  understand  as 
the  account  of  a  battle,  and  how  much  she  wished  to 
comprehend  it.' 

'That  is  because,  in  general,  they  are  not  written 
by  soldiers,'  said  the  colonel;  'but  Napier's  battles  are 
very  clear.  I  could  fight  every  one  of  them  on  this 
table.  That's  a  great  book,  that  history  of  Napier;  it 
has  faults,  but  they  are  rather  omissions  than  mis- 
takes. Now  that  affair  of  Almeidas  of  which  I  was 
just  speaking,  and  which  nearly  cost  me  my  leg,  it 
is  very  odd,  but  he  has  omitted  mentioning  it  alto- 
gether.' 

'But  you  saved  your  leg,  colonel,'  said  the  duke. 

'Yes,  I  had  the  honour  of  marching  into  Paris,  and 
that  is  an  event  not  very  easy  to  be  forgotten,  let  me 
tell  your  Grace.      I  saved  my  leg  because  I  knew  my 


8o  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

constitution.  For  the  very  same  reason  by  which  I 
hope  Sir  Russell  Malpas  will  save  his  leg.  Because 
he  will  be  attended  by  a  person  who  knows  his  con- 
stitution. He  never  did  a  wiser  thing  than  sending 
for  Roby.  For  my  part,  if  I  were  in  garrison  at 
Gibraltar  to-morrow,  and  laid  up,  I  would  do  the 
same;  I  would  send  for  Roby.  In  all  these  things, 
depend  upon  it,  knowing  the  constitution  is  half  the 
battle.' 

All  this  time,  while  Colonel  Brace  was  indulging 
in  his  garrulous  comments,  the  Duke  of  Bellamont 
was  drav/ing  his  moral.  He  had  a  great  opinion  of 
Mr.  Roby,  who  was  the  medical  attendant  of  the 
castle,  and  an  able  man.  Mr.  Roby  was  perfectly  ac- 
quainted with  the  constitution  of  his  son;  Mr.  Roby 
must  go  to  the  Holy  Sepulchre.  Cost  what  it  might, 
Mr.  Roby  must  be  sent  to  Jerusalem.  The  duke  was 
calculating  all  this  time  the  income  that  Mr.  Roby 
made.  He  would  not  put  it  down  at  more  than  five 
hundred  pounds  per  annum,  and  a  third  of  that  was 
certainly  afforded  by  the  castle.  The  duke  determined 
to  offer  Roby  a  thousand  and  his  expenses  to  attend 
Lord  Montacute.  He  would  not  be  more  than  a  year 
absent,  and  his  practice  could  hardly  seriously  suffer 
while  away,  backed  as  he  would  be,  when  he  re- 
turned, by  the  castle.  And  if  it  did,  the  duke  must 
guarantee  Roby  against  loss;  it  was  a  necessity,  ab- 
solute and  of  the  first  class,  that  Tancred  should  be 
attended  by  a  medical  man  who  knew  his  constitu- 
tion. The  duke  agreed  with  Colonel  Brace  that  it 
was  half  the  battle. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

Tancred,  the  New  Crusader. 

ISERABLE  mother  that  I  am!'  ex- 
claimed the  duchess,  and  she  clasped 
her  hands  in  anguish. 

'My  dearest  Katherine! '  said  the 
duke,  '  calm  yourself.' 

'  You  ought  to  have  prevented 
this,  George;  you  ought  never  to  have  let  things  come 
to  this  pass.' 

'  But,  my  dearest  Katherine,  the  blow  was  as  un- 
looked-for by  me  as  by  yourself.  I  had  not,  how 
could  I  have,  a  remote  suspicion  of  what  was  passing 
through  his  mind.?' 

'  What,  then,  is  the  use  of  your  boasted  confidence 
with  your  child,  which  you  tell  me  you  have  always 
cultivated  ?  Had  I  been  his  father,  I  would  have  dis- 
covered his  secret  thoughts.' 

'Very  possibly,  my  dear  Katherine;  but  you  are 
at  least  his  mother,  tenderly  loving  him,  and  tenderly 
loved  by  him.  The  intercourse  between  you  has  ever 
been  of  an  extreme  intimacy,  and  especially  on  the 
subjects  connected  with  this  fancy  of  his,  and  yet, 
you  see,  even  you  are  completely  taken  by  surprise.' 
'  I  once  had  a  suspicion  he  was  inclined  to  the 
Puseyite  heresy,  and   I   spoke  to   Mr.  Bernard  on  the 

(8i) 


82  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

subject,  and  afterwards  to  him,  but  I  was  convinced 
that  I  was  in  error.  I  am  sure,'  added  the  duchess, 
in  a  mournful  tone,  '  I  have  lost  no  opportunity  of 
instilling  into  him  the  principles  of  religious  truth.  It 
was  only  last  year,  on  his  birthday,  that  I  sent  him  a 
complete  set  of  the  publications  of  the  Parker  Society, 
my  own  copy  of  Jewel,  full  of  notes,  and  my  grand- 
father, the  primate's,  manuscript  commentary  on 
Chillingworth;  a  copy  made  purposely  by  myself.' 

'1  well  know,'  said  the  duke,  'that  you  have  done 
everything  for  his  spiritual  welfare  which  ability  and 
affection  combined  could  suggest.' 

'And  it  ends  in  this!'  exclaimed  the  duchess. 
'The  Holy  Land!  Why,  if  he  even  reach  it,  the 
climate  is  certain  death.  The  curse  of  the  Almighty, 
for  more  than  eighteen  centuries,  has  been  on  that 
land.  Every  year  it  has  become  more  sterile,  more 
savage,  more  unwholesome,  and  more  unearthly.  It 
is  the  abomination  of  desolation.  And  now  my  son 
is  to  go  there!    Oh!  he  is  lost  to  us  for  ever!' 

'But,  my  dear  Katherine,  let  us  consult  a  little.' 
'Consult!  Why  should  I  consult?  You  have  set- 
tled everything,  you  have  agreed  to  everything.  You 
do  not  come  here  to  consult  me;  I  understand  all 
that;  you  come  here  to  break  a  foregone  conclusion 
to  a  weak  and  miserable  woman.' 

'Do  not  say  such  things,  Katherine!' 
'What  should  I  say?    What  can  I  say?' 
'Anything   but   that.     I  hope  that  nothing  will  be 
ever  done  in  this  family  without  your  full  sanction.' 
'  Rest  assured,  then,  that  I  will  never  sanction  the 
departure  of  Tancred  on  this  crusade.' 

'Then  he  will  never  go,  at  least,  with  my  con- 
sent,' said   the    duke;   'but    Katherine,  assist    me,  my 


TANCRED  83 

dear  wife.  All  shall  be,  shall  ever  be,  as  you  wish; 
but  1  shrink  from  being  placed,  from  our  being 
placed,  in  collision  with  our  child.  The  mere  exer- 
cise of  parental  authority  is  a  last  resource;  I  would 
appeal  first,  rather  to  his  reason,  to  his  heart;  your  ar- 
guments,  his  affection  for  us,  may  yet  influence  him.' 

'You  tell  me  you  have  argued  with  him,'  said  the 
duchess  in  a  melancholy  tone. 

'  Yes,  but  you  know  so  much  more  on  these  sub- 
jects than  I  do,  indeed,  upon  all  subjects;  you  are  so 
clever,  that  1  do  not  despair,  my  dear  Katherine,  of 
your  producing  an  impression  on  him.' 

'I  would  tell  him  at  once,'  said  the  duchess,  firmly, 
'that  the  proposition  cannot  be  listened  to.' 

The  duke  looked  very  distressed.  After  a  mo- 
mentary pause,  he  said,  '  If,  indeed,  you  think  that 
the  best;  but  let  us  consult  before  we  take  that  step, 
because  it  would  seem  to  terminate  all  discussion, 
and  discussion  may  yet  do  good.  Besides,  I  cannot 
conceal  from  myself  that  Tancred  in  this  affair  is 
acting  under  the  influence  of  very  powerful  motives; 
his  feelings  are  highly  strung;  you  have  no  idea,  you 
can  have  no  idea  from  what  we  have  seen  of  him 
hitherto,  how  excited  he  is.  I  had  no  idea  of  his 
being  capable  of  such  excitement.  I  always  thought 
him  so  very  calm,  and  of  such  a  quiet  turn.  And  so, 
in  short,  my  dear  Katherine,  were  we  to  be  abrupt 
at  this  moment,  peremptory,  you  understand,  I  —  I 
should  not  be  surprised,  were  Tancred  to  go  without 
our  permission.' 

'Impossible!'  exclaimed  the  duchess,  starting  in 
her  chair,  but  with  as  much  consternation  as  confi- 
dence in  her  countenance.  'Throughout  his  life  he 
has  never  disobeved  us.' 


84  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'And  that  is  an  additional  reason,'  said  the  duke, 
quietly,  but  in  his  sweetest  tone,  'why  we  should 
not  treat  as  a  light  ebullition  this  first  instance  of  his 
preferring  his  own  will  to  that  of  his  father  and 
mother.' 

'  He  has  been  so  much  away  from  us  these  last 
three  years,'  said  the  duchess  in  a  tone  of  great  de- 
pression, 'and  they  are  such  important  years  in  the 
formation  of  character!  But  Mr.  Bernard,  he  ought 
to  have  been  aware  of  all  this;  he  ought  to  have 
known  what  was  passing  through  his  pupil's  mind; 
he  ought  to  have  warned  us.  Let  us  speak  to  him; 
let  us  speak  to  him  at  once.  Ring,  my  dear  George, 
and  request  the  attendance  of  Mr.  Bernard.' 

That  gentleman,  who  was  in  the  library,  kept 
them  waiting  but  a  few  minutes.  As  he  entered  the 
room,  he  perceived,  by  the  countenances  of  his  noble 
patrons,  that  something  remarkable,  and  probably  not 
agreeable,  had  occurred.  The  duke  opened  the  case 
to  Mr.  Bernard  with  calmness;  he  gave  an  outline  of 
the  great  catastrophe;  the  duchess  filled  up  the  parts, 
and  invested  the  whole  with  a  rich  and  even  terrible 
colouring. 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  astonishment  of  the  late 
private  tutor  of  Lord  Montacute.  He  was  fairly  over- 
come; the  communication  itself  was  startling,  the  ac- 
cessories overwhelmed  him.  The  unspoken  reproaches 
that  beamed  from  the  duke's  mild  eye;  the  withering 
glance  of  maternal  desolation  that  met  him  from  the 
duchess;  the  rapidity  of  her  anxious  and  agitated 
questions;  all  were  too  much  for  the  simple,  though 
correct,  mind  of  one  unused  to  those  passionate  de- 
velopments which  are  commonly  called  scenes.  All 
that  Mr.  Bernard   for   some   time  could  do  was  to  sit 


TANCRED  85 

with  his  eyes  staring  and  mouth  open,  and  re- 
peat, with  a  bewildered  air,  'The  Holy  Land,  the 
Holy  Sepulchre!'  No,  most  certainly  not;  most  as- 
suredly; never  in  any  way,  by  any  word  or  deed, 
had  Lord  Montacute  ever  given  him  reason  to  sup- 
pose or  imagine  that  his  lordship  intended  to  make  a 
pilgrimage  to  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  or  that  he  was  in- 
fluenced by  any  of  those  views  and  opinions  which 
he  had  so  strangely  and  so  uncompromisingly  ex- 
pressed to  his  father. 

'But,  Mr.  Bernard,  you  have  been  his  companion, 
his  instructor,  for  many  years,'  continued  the  duchess, 
'for  the  last  three  years  especially,  years  so  important 
in  the  formation  of  character.  You  have  seen  much 
more  of  Montacute  than  we  have.  Surely  you  must 
have  had  some  idea  of  what  was  passing  in  his  mind; 
you  could  not  help  knowing  it;  you  ought  to  have 
known  it;  you  ought  to  have  warned,  to  have  pre- 
pared us.' 

'Madam,'  at  length  said  Mr.  Bernard,  more  col- 
lected, and  feeling  the  necessity  and  excitement  of 
self-vindication,  'Madam,  your  noble  son,  under  my 
poor  tuition,  has  taken  the  highest  honours  of  his 
university;  his  moral  behaviour  during  that  period  has 
been  immaculate;  and  as  for  his  religious  sentiments, 
even  this  strange  scheme  proves  that  they  are,  at  any 
rate,  of  no  light  and  equivocal  character.' 

'To  lose  such  a  son!'  exclaimed  the  duchess,  in  a 
tone  of  anguish,  and  with  streaming  eyes. 

The  duke  took  her  hand,  and  would  have  soothed 
her;  and  then,  turning  to  Mr.  Bernard,  he  said,  in  a 
lowered  tone,  '  We  are  very  sensible  how  much  we 
owe  you;  the  duchess  equally  with  myself.  All  we 
regret  is,  that  some  of  us  had    not   obtained    a   more 


86  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

intimate  acquaintance  with  the  character  of  my  son 
than  it  appears  we  have  acquired.' 

'My  lord  duke,'  said  Mr.  Bernard,  'had  yourself 
or  her  Grace  ever  spoken  to  me  on  this  subject,  I 
would  have  taken  the  liberty  of  expressing  what  I 
say  now.  I  have  ever  found  Lord  Montacute  inscru- 
table. He  has  formed  himself  in  solitude,  and  has 
ever  repelled  any  advance  to  intimacy,  either  from 
those  who  were  his  inferiors  or  his  equals  in  station. 
He  has  never  had  a  companion.  As  for  myself,  dur- 
ing the  ten  years  that  I  have  had  the  honour  of  be- 
ing connected  with  him,  I  cannot  recall  a  word  or  a 
deed  on  his  part  which  towards  me  has  not  been 
courteous  and  considerate;  but  as  a  child  he  was  shy 
and  silent,  and  as  a  man,  for  I  have  looked  upon 
him  as  a  man  in  mind  for  these  four  or  even  five 
years,  he  has  employed  me  as  his  machine  to  obtain 
knowledge.  It  is  not  very  flattering  to  oneself  to 
make  these  confessions,  but  at  Oxford  he  had  the 
opportunity  of  communicating  with  some  of  the  most 
eminent  men  of  our  time,  and  I  have  always  learnt 
from  them  the  same  result.  Lord  Montacute  never 
disburthened.  His  passion  for  study  has  been  ardent; 
his  power  of  application  is  very  great;  his  attention 
unwearied  as  long  as  there  is  anything  to  acquire; 
but  he  never  seeks  your  opinions,  and  never  offers 
his  own.  The  interview  of  yesterday  with  your 
Grace  is  the  only  exception  with  which  I  am  ac- 
quainted, and  at  length  throws  some  light  on  the 
mysteries  of  his  mind.' 

The  duke  looked  sad;  his  wife  seemed  plunged  in 
profound  thought;  there  was  a  silence  of  many  mo- 
ments. At  length  the  duchess  looked  up,  and  said, 
in  a  calmer   tone,  and  with    an    air    of  great   serious- 


TANCRED  87 

ness,  '  It  seems  that  we  have  mistaken  the  character 
of  our  son.  Thank  you  very  much  for  coming  to  us 
so  quickly  in  our  trouble,  Mr.  Bernard.  It  was  very 
kind,  as  you  always  are.'  Mr.  Bernard  took  the  hint, 
rose,  bowed,  and  retired. 

The  moment  that  he  had  quitted  the  room,  the 
eyes  of  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Bellamont  met.  Who 
was  to  speak  first?  The  duke  had  nothing  to  say, 
and  therefore  he  had  the  advantage:  the  duchess 
wished  her  husband  to  break  the  silence,  but,  having 
something  to  say  herself,  she  could  not  refrain  from 
interrupting  it.  So  she  said,  with  a  tearful  eye, 
'Well,  George,  what  do  you  think  we  ought  to  do.?' 

The  duke  had  a  great  mind  to  propose  his  plan  of 
sending  Tancred  to  Jerusalem,  with  Colonel  Brace, 
Mr.  Bernard,  and  Mr.  Roby,  to  take  care  of  him,  but 
he  hardly  thought  the  occasion  was  ripe  enough  for 
that;  and  so  he  suggested  that  the  duchess  should 
speak  to  Tancred  herself. 

'No,'  said  her  Grace,  shaking  her  head,  'I  think  it 
better  for  me  to  be  silent;  at  least  at  present.  It  is 
necessary,  however,  that  the  most  energetic  means 
should  be  adopted  to  save  him,  nor  is  there  a  mo- 
ment to  be  lost.  We  must  shrink  from  nothing  for 
such  an  object.  I  have  a  plan.  We  will  put  the 
whole  matter  in  the  hands  of  our  friend,  the  bishop. 
We  will  get  him  to  speak  to  Tancred.  I  entertain 
not  a  doubt  that  the  bishop  will  put  his  mind  all 
right;  clear  all  his  doubts;  remove  all  his  scruples. 
The  bishop  is  the  only  person,  because,  you  see,  it  is 
a  case  political  as  well  as  theological,  and  the  bishop 
is  a  great  statesman  as  well  as  the  first  theologian  of 
the  age.  Depend  upon  it,  my  dear  George,  that  this 
is  the  wisest  course,  and,  with  the  blessing  of  Provi- 


88 


BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 


dence,  will  eflfect  our  purpose.  It  is,  perhaps,  asking 
a  good  deal  of  the  bishop,  considering  his  important 
and  multifarious  duties,  to  undertake  this  office,  but 
we  must  not  be  delicate  when  everything  is  at  stake; 
and,  considering  he  christened  and  confirmed  Tancred, 
and  our  long  friendship,  it  is  quite  out  of  the  question 
that  he  can  refuse.  However,  there  is  no  time  to  be 
lost.  We  must  get  to  town  as  soon  as  possible;  to- 
morrow, if  we  can.  I  shall  advance  affairs  by  writ- 
ing to  the  bishop  on  the  subject,  and  giving  him  an 
outhne  of  the  case,  so  that  he  may  be  prepared  to 
see  Tancred  at  once  on  our  arrival.  What  think  you, 
George,  of  my  plan?' 

*I  think  it  quite  admirable,'  replied  his  Grace,  only 
too  happy  that  there  was  at  least  the  prospect  of  a 
lull  of  a  few  days  in  this  great  embarrassment. 


CHAPTER   X. 

A  Visionary. 

BOUT  the  time  of  the  marriage  of 
the  Duchess  of  Bellamont,  her  noble 
family,  and  a  few  of  their  friends, 
some  of  whom  also  believed  in 
the  millennium,  were  persuaded 
that  the  conversion  of  the  Roman 
Catholic  population  of  Ireland  to  the  true  faith, 
which  was  their  own,  was  at  hand.  They  had  sub- 
scribed very  liberally  for  the  purpose,  and  formed  an 
amazing  number  of  sub-committees.  As  long  as  their 
funds  lasted,  their  missionaries  found  proselytes.  It 
was  the  last  desperate  effort  of  a  Church  that  had 
from  the  first  betrayed  its  trust.  Twenty  years  ago, 
statistics  not  being  so  much  in  vogue,  and  the  people 
of  England  being  in  the  full  efflorescence  of  that  pub- 
lic ignorance  which  permitted  them  to  believe  them- 
selves the  most  enlightened  nation  in  the  world,  the 
Irish  '  difficulty '  was  not  quite  so  well  understood  as 
at  the  present  day.  It  was  then  an  established  doc- 
trine, and  all  that  was  necessary  for  Ireland  was  more 
Protestantism,  and  it  was  supposed  to  be  not  more 
difficult  to  supply  the  Irish  with  Protestantism  than  it 
had  proved,  in  the  instance  of  a  recent  famine,    1822, 

(89) 


90  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

to  furnish  them  with  potatoes.  What  was  principally 
wanted  in  both  cases  were  subscriptions. 

When  the  English  public,  therefore,  were  assured 
by  their  co-religionists  on  the  other  side  of  St.  George's 
Channel,  that  at  last  the  good  work  was  doing;  that 
the  flame  spread,  even  rapidly;  that  not  only  parishes 
but  provinces  were  all  agog,  and  that  both  town  and 
country  were  quite  in  a  heat  of  proselytism,  they  be- 
gan to  believe  that  at  last  the  scarlet  lady  was  about 
to  be  dethroned;  they  loosened  their  purse-strings; 
fathers  of  families  contributed  their  zealous  five  pounds, 
followed  by  every  other  member  of  the  household,  to 
the  babe  in  arms,  who  subscribed  its  fanatical  five 
shillings.  The  affair  looked  well.  The  journals  teemed 
with  lists  of  proselytes  and  cases  of  conversion;  and 
even  orderly,  orthodox  people,  who  were  firm  in 
their  own  faith,  but  wished  others  to  be  permitted  to 
pursue  their  errors  in  peace,  began  to  congratulate 
each  other  on  the  prospect  of  our  at  last  becoming  a 
united  Protestant  people. 

In  the  blaze  and  thick  of  the  affair,  Irish  Protes- 
tants jubilant,  Irish  Papists  denouncing  the  whole 
movement  as  fraud  and  trumpery,  John  Bull  per- 
plexed, but  excited,  and  still  subscribing,  a  young 
bishop  rose  in  his  place  in  the  House  of  Lords,  and, 
with  a  vehemence  there  unusual,  declared  that  he 
saw  'the  finger  of  God  in  this  second  Reformation,' 
and,  pursuing  the  prophetic  vein  and  manner,  de- 
nounced 'woe  to  those  who  should  presume  to  lift 
up  their  hands  and  voices  in  vain  and  impotent  at- 
tempts to  stem  the  flood  of  light  that  was  bursting 
over  Ireland.' 

In  him,  who  thus  plainly  discerned  'the  finger  of 
God'   in   transactions   in  which  her    family    and    feel- 


TANCRED  91 

ings  were  so  deeply  interested,  the  young  and  en- 
thusiastic Duchess  of  Bellamont  instantly  recognised 
the  'man  of  God;'  and  from  that  moment  the  right 
reverend  prelate  became,  in  all  spiritual  affairs,  her 
infaUible  instructor,  although  the  impending  second 
Reformation  did  chance  to  take  the  untoward  form  of 
the  emancipation  of  the  Roman  Catholics,  followed  in 
due  season  by  the  destruction  of  Protestant  bishoprics, 
the  sequestration  of  Protestant  tithes,  and  the  endow- 
ment of  Maynooth. 

In  speculating  on  the  fate  of  public  institutions  and 
the  course  of  public  affairs,  it  is  important  that  we  should 
not  permit  our  attention  to  be  engrossed  by  the  prin- 
ciples on  which  they  are  founded  and  the  circum- 
stances which  they  present,  but  that  we  should  also 
remember  how  much  depends  upon  the  character  of 
the  individuals  who  are  in  the  position  to  superintend 
or  to  direct  them. 

The  Church  of  England,  mainly  from  its  deficiency 
of  oriental  knowledge,  and  from  a  misconception  of 
the  priestly  character  which  has  been  the  conse- 
quence of  that  want,  has  fallen  of  late  years  into 
great  straits;  nor  has  there  ever  been  a  season  when 
it  has  more  needed  for  its  guides  men  possessing  the 
higher  qualities  both  of  intellect  and  disposition. 
About  five-and-twenty  years  ago,  it  began  to  be  dis- 
cerned that  the  time  had  gone  by,  at  least  in  Eng- 
land, for  bishoprics  to  serve  as  appanages  for  the 
younger  sons  of  great  families.  The  Arch-Mediocrity 
who  then  governed  this  country,  and  the  mean  tenor 
of  whose  prolonged  administration  we  have  delineated 
in  another  work,  was  impressed  with  the  necessity 
of  reconstructing  the  episcopal  bench  on  principles  of 
personal    distinction    and    ability.     But    his    notion    of 


92  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

clerical  capacity  did  not  soar  higher  than  a  private 
tutor  who  had  suckled  a  young  noble  into  university 
honours;  and  his  test  of  priestly  celebrity  was  the 
decent  editorship  of  a  Greek  play.  He  sought  for  the 
successors  of  the  apostles,  for  the  stewards  of  the 
mysteries  of  Sinai  and  of  Calvary,  among  third-rate 
hunters  after  syllables. 

These  men,  notwithstanding  their  elevation,  with 
one  exception,  subsided  into  their  native  insignifi- 
cance; and  during  our  agitated  age,  when  the  prin- 
ciples of  all  institutions,  sacred  and  secular,  have 
been  called  in  question;  when,  alike  in  the  senate 
and  the  market-place,  both  the  doctrine  and  the 
discipline  of  the  Church  have  been  impugned,  its 
power  assailed,  its  authority  denied,  the  amount  of 
its  revenues  investigated,  their  disposition  criticised, 
and  both  attacked;  not  a  voice  has  been  raised  by 
these  mitred  nullities,  either  to  warn  or  to  vindicate; 
not  a  phrase  has  escaped  their  lips  or  their  pens,  that 
ever  influenced  public  opinion,  touched  the  heart  of 
nations,  or  guided  the  conscience  of  a  perplexed  peo- 
ple. If  they  were  ever  heard  of  it  was  that  they  had 
been  pelted  in  a  riot. 

The  exception  which  we  have  mentioned  to  their 
sorry  careers  was  that  of  the  too  adventurous  prophet 
of  the  second  Reformation;  the  ductor  duhitantium 
appealed  to  by  the  Duchess  of  Bellamont,  to  con- 
vince her  son  that  the  principles  of  religious  truth, 
as  well  as  of  political  justice,  required  no  further  in- 
vestigation; at  least  by  young  marquesses. 

The  ready  audacity  with  which  this  right  reverend 
prelate  had  stood  sponsor  for  the  second  Reformation 
is  a  key  to  his  character.  He  combined  a  great 
talent  for  action  with  very  limited  powers  of  thought. 


TANCRED  93 

Bustling,  energetic,  versatile,  gifted  with  an  indom- 
itable perseverance,  and  stimulated  by  an  ambition 
that  knew  no  repose,  with  a  capacity  for  mastering 
details  and  an  inordinate  passion  for  affairs,  he  could 
permit  nothing  to  be  done  without  his  interference, 
and  consequently  was  perpetually  involved  in  trans- 
actions which  were  either  failures  or  blunders.  He 
was  one  of  those  leaders  who  are  not  guides.  Hav- 
ing little  real  knowledge,  and  not  endowed  with 
those  high  qualities  of  intellect  which  permit  their 
possessor  to  generalise  the  details  afforded  by  study 
and  experience,  and  so  deduce  rules  of  conduct,  his 
lordship,  when  he  received  those  frequent  appeals 
which  were  the  necessary  consequence  of  his  officious 
life,  became  obscure,  confused,  contradictory,  incon- 
sistent, illogical.     The  oracle  was  always  dark. 

Placed  in  a  high  post  in  an  age  of  political  analy- 
sis, the  bustling  intermeddler  was  unable  to  supply 
society  with  a  single  solution.  Enunciating  second- 
hand, with  characteristic  precipitation,  some  big 
principle  in  vogue,  as  if  he  were  a  discoverer,  he  in- 
variably shrank  from  its  subsequent  application  the 
moment  that  he  found  it  might  be  unpopular  and 
inconvenient.  All  his  quandaries  terminated  in  the 
same  catastrophe;  a  compromise.  Abstract  principles 
with  him  ever  ended  in  concrete  expediency.  The 
aggregate  of  circumstances  outweighed  the  isolated 
cause.  The  primordial  tenet,  which  had  been  advo- 
cated with  uncompromising  arrogance,  gently  sub- 
sided into  some  second-rate  measure  recommended 
with  all  the  artifice  of  an  impenetrable  ambiguity. 

Beginning  with  the  second  Reformation,  which 
was  a  little  rash  but  dashing,  the  bishop,  always 
ready,  had  in  the  course  of  his  episcopal  career  placed 


94  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

himself  at  the  head  of  every  movement  in  the  Church 
which  others  had  originated,  and  had  as  regularly 
withdrawn  at  the  right  moment,  when  the  heat  was 
over,  or  had  become,  on  the  contrary,  excessive. 
Furiously  evangelical,  soberly  high  and  dry,  and  fer- 
vently Puseyite,  each  phasis  of  his  faith  concludes 
with  what  the  Spaniards  term  a  'transaction.'  The 
saints  are  to  have  their  new  churches,  but  they  are 
also  to  have  their  rubrics  and  their  canons;  the  uni- 
versities may  supply  successors  to  the  apostles,  but 
they  are  also  presented  with  a  church  commission; 
even  the  Puseyites  may  have  candles  on  their  altars, 
but  they  must  not  be  lighted. 

It  will  be  seen,  therefore,  that  his  lordship  was 
one  of  those  characters  not  ill-adapted  to  an  eminent 
station  in  an  age  like  the  present,  and  in  a  country 
like  our  own;  an  age  of  movement,  but  of  confused 
ideas;  a  country  of  progress,  but  too  rich  to  risk 
much  change.  Under  these  circumstances,  the  spirit 
of  a  period  and  a  people  seeks  a  safety-valve  in  bus- 
tle. They  do  something,  lest  it  be  said  that  they  do 
nothing.  At  such  a  time,  ministers  recommend  their 
measures  as  experiments,  and  parliaments  are  ever 
ready  to  rescind  their  votes.  Find  a  man  who,  totally 
destitute  of  genius,  possesses  nevertheless  considerable 
talents;  who  has  official  aptitude,  a  volubility  of  rou- 
tine rhetoric,  great  perseverance,  a  love  of  affairs; 
who,  embarrassed  neither  by  the  principles  of  the 
philosopher  nor  by  the  prejudices  of  the  bigot,  can 
assume,  with  a  cautious  facility,  the  prevalent  tone, 
and  disembarrass  himself  of  it,  with  a  dexterous  am- 
biguity, the  moment  it  ceases  to  be  predominant; 
recommending  himself  to  the  innovator  by  his  ap- 
probation of  change  'in  the  abstract,'  and  to  the  con- 


TANCRED 


95 


servative  by  his  prudential  and  practical  respect  for 
that  which  is  established;  such  a  man,  though  he  be 
one  of  an  essentially  small  mind,  though  his  intel- 
lectual qualities  be  less  than  moderate,  with  feeble 
powers  of  thought,  no  imagination,  contracted  sym- 
pathies, and  a  most  loose  public  morality;  such  a 
man  is  the  individual  whom  kings  and  parliaments 
would  select  to  govern  the  State  or  rule  the  Church. 
Change,  'in  the  abstract,'  is  what  is  wanted  by  a 
people  who  are  at  the  same  time  inquiring  and 
wealthy.  Instead  of  statesmen  they  desire  shufflers; 
and  compromise  in  conduct  and  ambiguity  in  speech 
are,  though  nobody  will  confess  it,  the  public  qualities 
now  most  in  vogue. 

Not  exactly,  however,  those  calculated  to  meet  the 
case  of  Tancred.  The  interview  was  long,  for  Tan- 
cred  listened  with  apparent  respect  and  deference  to 
the  individual  under  whose  auspices  he  had  entered 
the  Church  of  Christ;  but  the  replies  to  his  inquiries, 
though  more  adroit  than  the  duke's,  were  in  reality 
not  more  satisfactory,  and  could  not,  in  any  way, 
meet  the  inexorable  logic  of  Lord  Montacute.  The 
bishop  was  as  little  able  as  the  duke  to  indicate  the 
principle  on  which  the  present  order  of  things  in 
England  was  founded;  neither  faith  nor  its  conse- 
quence, duty,  was  at  all  illustrated  or  invigorated  by 
his  handling.  He  utterly  failed  in  reconciling  a  belief 
in  ecclesiastical  truth  with  the  support  of  religious 
dissent.  When  he  tried  to  define  in  whom  the 
power  of  government  should  repose,  he  was  lost  in 
a  maze  of  phrases,  and  afforded  his  pupil  not  a  single 
fact. 

Mt  cannot  be  denied,'  at  length  said  Tancred,  with 
great  calmness,    'that  society  was    once    regulated    by 


96  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

God,  and  that  now  it  is  regulated  by  man.  For  my 
part,  I  prefer  divine  to  self-government,  and  I  wish  to 
know  how  it  is  to  be  attained.' 

'The  Church  represents  God  upon  earth,'  said  the 
bishop. 

'But  the  Church  no  longer  governs  man,'  replied 
Tancred. 

'There  is  a  great  spirit  rising  in  the  Church,'  ob- 
served the  bishop,  with  thoughtful  solemnity;  'a  great 
and  excellent  spirit.  The  Church  of  1845  is  not  the 
Church  of  1745.  We  must  remember  that;  we  know 
not  what  may  happen.  We  shall  soon  see  a  bishop 
at  Manchester.' 

'But  I  want  to  see  an  angel  at  Manchester.' 

'An  angel!' 

'Why  not?  Why  should  there  not  be  heavenly 
messengers,  when  heavenly  messages  are  most 
wanted?' 

'We  have  received  a  heavenly  message  by  one 
greater  than  the  angels,'  said  the  bishop.  'Their 
visits  to  man  ceased  with  the  mightier  advent.' 

*  Then  why  did  angels  appear  to  Mary  and  her 
companions  at  the  holy  tomb?'  inquired  Tancred. 

The  interview  from  which  so  much  was  anticipated 
was  not  satisfactory.  The  eminent  prelate  did  not 
realise  Tancred's  ideal  of  a  bishop,  while  his  lordship 
did  not  hesitate  to  declare  that  Lord  Montacute  was 
a  visionary. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

Advice  from  a  Man  of  the  World. 

HEN  the  duchess  found  that  the  in- 
terview with  the  bishop  had  been 
fruitless  of  the  anticipated  results, 
she  was  staggered,  disheartened; 
but  she  was  a  woman  of  too  high 
a  spirit  to  succumb  under  a  first 
defeat.  She  was  of  opinion  that  his  lordship  had 
misunderstood  the  case,  or  had  mismanaged  it;  her 
confidence  in  him,  too,  was  not  so  illimitable  since 
he  had  permitted  the  Puseyites  to  have  candles  on 
their  altars,  although  he  had  forbidden  their  being 
lighted,  as  when  he  had  declared,  twenty  years  be- 
fore, that  the  finger  of  God  was  about  to  protestantise 
Ireland.  His  lordship  had  said  and  had  done  many 
things  since  that  time  which  had  occasioned  the 
duchess  many  misgivings,  although  she  had  chosen 
that  they  should  not  occur  to  her  recollection  until 
he  fiiiled  in  convincing  her  son  that  religious  truth 
was  to  be  found  in  the  parish  of  St.  James,  and 
political  justice  in  the  happy  haunts  of  Montacute 
Forest. 

The  bishop  had  voted  for  the  Church  Temporalities' 
Bill  in   1833,  which  at  one  swoop  had  suppressed  ten 

(97) 


98  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

Irish  episcopates.  This  was  a  queer  suffrage  for  the 
apostle  of  the  second  Reformation.  True  it  is  that 
Whiggism  was  then  in  the  ascendant,  and  two  years 
afterwards,  when  Whiggism  had  received  a  heavy 
blow  and  great  discouragement;  when  we  had  been 
blessed  in  the  interval  with  a  decided  though  feeble 
Conservative  administration,  and  were  blessed  at  the 
moment  with  a  strong  though  undecided  Conservative 
opposition;  his  lordship,  with  characteristic  activity, 
had  galloped  across  country  into  the  right  line 
again,  denounced  the  Appropriation  Clause  in  a  spirit 
worthy  of  his  earlier  days,  and,  quite  forgetting  the 
ten  Irish  bishoprics,  that  only  four-and-twenty  months 
before  he  had  doomed  to  destruction,  was  all  for 
proselytising  Ireland  again  by  the  efficacious  means  of 
Irish  Protestant  bishops. 

'The  bishop  says  that  Tancred  is  a  visionary,'  said 
the  duchess  to  her  husband,  with  an  air  of  great  dis- 
pleasure. 'Why,  it  is  because  he  is  a  visionary  that 
we  sent  him  to  the  bishop.  I  want  to  have  his  false 
imaginings  removed  by  one  who  has  the  competent 
powers  of  learning  and  argument,  and  the  authority 
of  a  high  and  holy  office.  A  visionary,  indeed!  Why, 
so  are  the  Puseyites;  they  are  visionaries,  and  his 
lordship  has  been  obliged  to  deal  with  them;  though, 
to  be  sure,  if  he  spoke  to  Tancred  in  a  similar  fashion, 
I  am  not  surprised  that  my  son  has  returned  un- 
changed! This  is  the  most  vexatious  business  that  ever 
occurred  to  us.  Something  must  be  done;  but  what 
to  fix  on  ?  What  do  you  think,  George  ?  Since 
speaking  to  the  bishop,  of  which  you  so  much  ap- 
proved, has  failed,  what  do  you  recommend?' 

While  the  duchess  was  speaking,  she  was  seated 
in    her    boudoir,    looking    into    the    Green    Park;    the 


TANCRED  99 

duke's  horses  were  in  the  courtyard,  and  he  was 
about  to  ride  down  to  the  House  of  Lords;  he  had 
just  looked  in,  as  was  his  custom,  to  say  farewell  till 
they  met  again. 

'1  am  sorry  that  the  interview  with  the  bishop 
has  failed,'  said  the  duke,  in  a  hesitating  tone,  and 
playing  with  his  riding-stick;  and  then  walking  up  to 
the  window  and  looking  into  the  Park,  he  said,  ap- 
parently after  reflection,  '  I  always  think  the  best  per- 
son to  deal   with  a  visionary  is  a  man  of  the  world.' 

'  But  what  can  men  of  the  world  know  of  such 
questions?'  said  the  duchess,  mournfully, 

'Very  little,'  said  her  husband,  'and  therefore  they 
are  never  betrayed  into  arguments,  which  I  fancy  al- 
ways make  people  more  obstinate,  even  if  they  are 
confuted.  Men  of  the  world  have  a  knack  of  settling 
everything  without  discussion;  they  do  it  by  tact. 
It  is  astonishing  how  many  difficulties  I  have  seen 
removed  —  by  Eskdale,  for  example  —  which  it  seemed 
that  no  power  on  earth  could  change,  and  about 
which  we  had  been  arguing  for  months.  There  was 
the  Cheadle  churches  case,  for  example;  it  broke  up 
some  of  the  oldest  friendships  in  the  county;  even 
Hungerford  and  llderton  did  not  speak.  I  never  had 
a  more  anxious  time  of  it;  and,  as  far  as  I  was  per- 
sonally concerned,  I  would  have  made  any  sacrifice 
to  keep  a  good  understanding  in  the  county.  At  last 
I  got  the  business  referred  to  Eskdale,  and  the 
affair  was  ultimately  arranged  to  everybody's  satisfac- 
tion. I  don't  know  how  he  managed:  it  was  quite 
impossible  that  he  could  have  offered  any  new  argu- 
ments, but  he  did  it  by  tact.  Tact  does  not  re- 
move difficulties,  but  difficulties  melt  away  under 
tact.' 


loo  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'Heigho!'  sighed  the  duchess.  'I  cannot  under- 
stand how  tact  can  tell  us  what  is  religious  truth,  or 
prevent  my  son  from  going  to  the  Holy  Sepulchre.' 

'Try,*  said  the  duke. 

'Shall  you  see  our  cousin  to-day,  George?' 

'He  is  sure  to  be  at  the  House,'  replied  the  duke, 
eagerly.  'I  tell  you  what  I  propose,  Kate:  Tancred 
is  gone  to  the  House  of  Commons  to  hear  the  debate 
on  Maynooth;  I  will  try  and  get  our  cousin  to  come 
home  and  dine  with  us,  and  then  we  can  talk  over 
the  whole  affair  at  once.     What  say  you?' 

'Very  well.' 

'We  have  failed  with  a  bishop;  we  will  now  try 
a  man  of  the  world;  and  if  we  are  to  have  a  man  of 
the  world,  we  had  better  have  a  firstrate  one,  and 
everybody  agrees  that  our  cousin ' 

'Yes,  yes,  George,'  said  the  duchess,  'ask  him  to 
come;  tell  him  it  is  very  urgent,  that  we  must 
consult  him  immediately;  and  then,  if  he  be  engaged, 
1  dare  say  he  will  manage  to  come  all  the  same.' 

Accordingly,  about  half-past  eight  o'clock,  the  two 
peers  arrived  at  Bellamont  House  together.  They 
were  unexpectedly  late;  they  had  been  detained  at 
the  House.  The  duke  was  excited;  even  Lord  Esk- 
dale  looked  as  if  something  had  happened.  Some- 
thing had  happened;  there  had  been  a  division  in  the 
House  of  Lords.  Rare  and  startling  event!  It  seemed 
as  if  the  peers  were  about  to  resume  their  functions. 
Divisions  in  the  House  of  Lords  are  now-a-days  so 
thinly  scattered,  that,  when  one  occurs,  the  peers 
cackle  as  if  they  had  laid  an  egg.  They  are  quite 
proud  of  the  proof  of  their  still  procreative  powers. 
The  division  to-night  had  not  been  on  a  subject  of 
any  public   interest    or   importance;    but  still  it  was  a 


TANCRED  loi 

division,  and,  what  was  more,  the  Government  had 
been  left  in  a  minority.  True,  the  catastrophe  was 
occasioned  by  a  mistai^e.  The  dictator  had  been 
asleep  during  the  debate,  woke  suddenly  from  a  dys- 
peptic dream,  would  make  a  speech,  and  spoke  on 
the  wrong  side.  A  lively  colleague,  not  yet  suffi- 
ciently broken  in  to  the  frigid  discipline  of  the  High 
Court  of  Registry,  had  pulled  the  great  man  once  by 
his  coat-tails,  a  House  of  Commons  practice,  permit- 
ted to  the  Cabinet  when  their  chief  is  blundering, 
very  necessary  sometimes  for  a  lively  leader,  but  of 
which  Sir  Robert  highly  disapproves,  as  the  arrange- 
ment of  his  coat-tails,  next  to  beating  the  red  box, 
forms  the  most  important  part  of  his  rhetorical  acces- 
sories. The  dictator,  when  he  at  length  compre- 
hended that  he  had  made  a  mistake,  persisted  in 
adhering  to  it;  the  division  was  called,  some  of  the 
officials  escaped,  the  rest  were  obliged  to  vote  with 
their  ruthless  master;  but  his  other  friends,  glad  of  an 
opportunity  of  asserting  their  independence  and  ad- 
ministering to  the  dictator  a  slight  check  in  a  quiet 
inoffensive  way,  put  him  in  a  minority;  and  the  Duke 
of  Bellamont  and  Lord  Eskdale  had  contributed  to 
this  catastrophe. 

Dinner  was  served  in  the  library;  the  conversation 
during  it  was  chiefly  the  event  of  the  morning.  The 
duchess,  who,  though  not  a  partisan,  was  something 
of  a  politician,  thought  it  was  a  pity  that  the  dictator 
had  ever  stepped  out  of  his  military  sphere;  her  hus- 
band, who  had  never  before  seen  a  man's  coat-tails 
pulled  when  he  was  speaking,  dilated  much  upon  the 
singular  circumstance  of  Lord  Spur  so  disporting  him- 
self on  the  present  occasion;  while  Lord  Eskdale,  who 
had  sat  for  a  long  time    in   the    House   of  Commons, 


I02  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

and  who  was  used  to  everything,  assured  his  cousin  that 
the  custom,  though  odd,  was  by  no  means  irregular. 
'I  remember,'  said  his  lordship,  'seeing  Ripon,  when 
he  was  Robinson,  and  Huskisson,  each  pulling  one  of 
Canning's  coat-tails  at  the  same  time.' 

Throughout  dinner  not  a  word  about  Tancred. 
Lord  Eskdale  neither  asked  where  he  was  nor  how  he 
was.  At  length,  to  the  great  relief  of  the  duchess, 
dinner  was  finished;  the  servants  had  disappeared. 
The  duke  pushed  away  the  table;  they  drew  their 
chairs  round  the  hearth;  Lord  Eskdale  took  half  a 
glass  of  Madeira,  then  stretched  his  legs  a  little,  then 
rose,  stirred  the  fire,  and  then,  standing  with  his  back 
to  it  and  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  said,  in  a  careless 
tone  approaching  to  a  drawl,  'And  so,  duchess,  Tan- 
cred wants  to  go  to  Jerusalem.?' 

'George  has  told  you,  then,  all  our  troubles.?' 

'Only  that;  he  left  the  rest  to  you,  and  I  came  to 
hear  it.' 

Whereupon  the  duchess  went  off,  and  spoke  for  a 
considerable  time  with  great  animation  and  ability, 
the  duke  hanging  on  every  word  with  vigilant  interest. 
Lord  Eskdale  never  interrupting  her  for  an  instant; 
while  she  stated  the  case  not  only  with  the  impas- 
sioned feeling  of  a  devoted  mother,  but  occasionally 
with  all  the  profundity  of  a  theologian.  She  did  not 
conceal  from  him  the  interview  between  Tancred  and 
the  bishop;  it  was  her  last  effort,  and  had  failed;  and 
so,  'after  all  our  plans,'  she  ended,  'as  far  as  I  can 
form  an  opinion,  he  is  absolutely  more  resolved  than 
ever  to  go  to  Jerusalem.' 

'Well,'  said  his  lordship,  'it  is  at  least  better  than 
going  to  the  Jews,  which  most  men  do  at  his  time 
of  life.' 


TANCRED  103 

'I  cannot  agree  even  to  that,'  said  the  duchess; 
'for  I  would  rather  that  he  should  be  ruined  than 
die.' 

'Men  do  not  die  as  they  used,'  said  his  lordship. 
'Ask  the  annuity  offices;  they  have  all  raised  their 
rates.' 

'  I  know  nothing  about  annuity  offices,  but  I  know 
that  almost  everybody  dies  who  goes  to  those  coun- 
tries; look  at  young  Fernborough,  he  was  just  Tan- 
cred's  age;  the  fevers  alone  must  kill  him.' 

'He  must  take  some  quinine  in  his  dressing-case,' 
said  Lord  Eskdale. 

'You  jest,  Henry,'  said  the  duchess,  disappointed, 
'when  I  am  in  despair.' 

'No,'  said  Lord  Eskdale,  looking  up  to  the  ceiling, 
'  1  am  thinking  how  you  may  prevent  Tancred  from 
going  to  Jerusalem,  without,  at  the  same  time,  op- 
posing his  wishes.' 

'Ay,  ay,'  said  the  duke,  'that  is  it.'  And  he 
looked  triumphantly  to  his  wife,  as  much  as  to  say, 
'Now  you  see  what  it  is  to  be  a  man  of  the  world.' 

'A  man  cannot  go  to  Jerusalem  as  he  would  to 
Birmingham,  by  the  next  train,'  continued  his  lord- 
ship; 'he  must  get  something  to  take  him;  and  if 
you  make  the  sacrifice  of  consenting  to  his  departure, 
you  have  a  right  to  stipulate  as  to  the  manner  in 
which  he  should  depart.  Your  son  ought  to  travel 
with  a  suite;  he  ought  to  make  the  voyage  in  his 
own  yacht.  Yachts  are  not  to  be  found  like  hack 
cabs,  though  there  are  several  for  sale  now;  but  then 
they  are  not  of  the  admeasurement  of  which  you  ap- 
prove for  such  a  voyage  and  such  a  sea.  People  talk 
very  lightly  of  the  Mediterranean,  but  there  are  such 
things  as  white  squalls.     Anxious  parents,  and  parents 

15     B.  D.— 20 


I04  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

so  fond  of  a  son  as  you  are,  and  a  son  whose  life  for 
so  many  reasons  is  so  precious,  have  a  right  to  make 
it  a  condition  of  their  consent  to  his  departure,  that 
he  should  embark  in  a  vessel  of  considerable  tonnage. 
He  will  find  difficulty  in  buying  one  second-hand;  if 
he  finds  one  it  will  not  please  him.  He  will  get  in- 
terested in  yacht-building,  as  he  is  interested  now 
about  Jerusalem:  both  boyish  fancies.  He  will  stay 
another  year  in  England  to  build  a  yacht  to  take  him 
to  the  Holy  Land;  the  yacht  will  be  finished  this 
time  twelvemonths;  and,  instead  of  going  to  Palestine, 
he  will  go  to  Cowes.' 

'That  is  quite  my  view  of  the  case,'  said  the 
duke. 

'It  never  occurred  to  me,'  said  the  duchess. 

Lord  Eskdale  resumed  his  seat,  and  took  another 
half-glass  of  Madeira. 

'Well,  I  think  it  is  very  satisfactory,  Katherine,' 
said  the  duke,  after  a  short  pause. 

'And  what  do  you  recommend  us  to  do  first.?' 
said  the  duchess  to  Lord  Eskdale. 

'Let  Tancred  go  into  society:  the  best  way  for 
him  to  forget   Jerusalem    is   to   let    him    see    London.' 

'But  how  can  I  manage  it?'  said  the  duchess.  'I 
never  go  anywhere;  nobody  knows  him,  and  he  does 
not  wish  to  know  anybody.' 

'I  will  manage  it,  with  your  permission;  'tis  not 
difficult;  a  young  marquess  has  only  to  evince  an  in- 
clination, and  in  a  week's  time  he  will  be  every- 
where. I  will  tell  Lady  St.  Julians  and  the  great 
ladies  to  send  him  invitations;  they  will  fall  like  a 
snow-storm.  All  that  remains  is  for  you  to  prevail 
upon  him  to  accept  them.' 

'And  how  shall  I  contrive  it? 'said  the  duchess. 


TANCRED  105 

'Easily,'  said  Lord  Eskdale.  'Make  his  going  into 
society,  while  his  yacht  is  preparing,  one  of  the  con- 
ditions of  the  great  sacrifice  you  are  making.  He 
cannot  refuse  you:  'tis  but  the  first  step.  A  youth 
feels  a  little  repugnance  to  launching  into  the  great 
world:  'tis  shyness;  but  after  the  plunge,  the  great 
difficulty  is  to  restrain  rather  than  to  incite.  Let  him 
but  once  enter  the  world,  and  be  tranquil,  he  will 
soon  find  something  to  engage  him.' 

'As  long  as  he  does  not  take  to  play,'  said  the 
duke,   'I  do  not  much  care  what  he  does.' 

'My  dear  George!'  said  the  duchess,  'how  can  you 
say  such  things!  I  was  in  hopes,'  she  added,  in  a 
mournful  tone,  'that  we  might  have  settled  him, 
without  his  entering  what  you  call  the  world,  Henry. 
Dearest  child!     I  fancy  him  surrounded  by  pitfalls.' 


CHAPTER   XII. 

The  Dreamer  Enters  Society. 

FTER    this    consultation  with    Lord 
'p    Eskdale,  the  duchess  became  easier 

in  her   mind.     She  was   of  a  san- 
guine   temper,    and    with   facility 

believed  what  she  wished.  Affairs 
stood  thus:  it  was  agreed  by  all  that 
Tancred  should  go  to  the  Holy  Land,  but  he  was  to 
go  in  his  own  yacht;  which  yacht  was  to  be  of  a 
firstrate  burthen,  and  to  be  commanded  by  an  officer 
in  H.M.S. ;  and  he  was  to  be  accompanied  by  Colonel 
Brace,  Mr.  Bernard,  and  Mr.  Roby;  and  the  servants 
were  to  be  placed  entirely  under  the  control  of  some 
trusty  foreigner  accustomed  to  the  East,  and  who  was 
to  be  chosen  by  Lord  Eskdale.  In  the  meantime,  _ 
Tancred  had  acceded  to  the  wish  of  his  parents,  that  ■ 
until  his  departure  he  should  mix  much  in  society.  ^ 
The  duchess  calculated  that,  under  any  circumstances, 
three  months  must  elapse  before  all  the  arrangements 
were  concluded;  and  she  felt  persuaded  that,  during 
that  period,  Tancred  must  become  enamoured  of  his 
cousin  Katherine,  and  that  the  only  use  of  the  yacht 
would  be  to  take  them  all  to  Ireland.  The  duke  was 
resolved  only  on  two  points:  that  his  son  should  do 
exactly  as  his  son  liked,  and  that  he  himself  would 
(106) 


TANCRED  107 

never  take  the  advice,  on  any  subject,  of  any  other 
person  than  Lord  Eskdale. 

In  the  meantime  Tancred  was  launched,  almost 
unconsciously,  into  the  great  world.  The  name  of 
the  Marquess  of  Montacute  was  foremost  in  those  del- 
icate lists  by  which  an  eager  and  admiring  public  is 
apprised  who,  among  their  aristocracy,  eat,  drink, 
dance,  and  sometimes  pray.  From  the  saloons  of  Bel- 
grave  and  Grosvenor  Square  to  the  sacred  recesses  of 
the  Chapel  Royal,  the  movements  of  Lord  Montacute 
were  tracked  and  registered,  and  were  devoured 
every  morning,  oftener  with  a  keener  relish  than  the 
matin  meal  of  which  they  formed  a  regular  portion. 
England  is  the  only  country  which  enjoys  the  un- 
speakable advantage  of  being  thus  regularly,  promptly, 
and  accurately  furnished  with  catalogues  of  those 
favoured  beings  who  are  deemed  qualified  to  enter 
the  houses  of  the  great.  What  condescension  in  those 
who  impart  the  information!  What  indubitable  evi- 
dence of  true  nobility!  What  superiority  to  all  petty 
vanity!  And  in  those  who  receive  it,  what  freedom 
from  all  little  feelings!  No  arrogance  on  one  side;  on 
the  other,  no  envy.  It  is  only  countries  blessed  with 
a  free  press  that  can  be  thus  favoured.  Even  a  free 
press  is  not  alone  sufficient.  Besides  a  free  press,  you 
must  have  a  servile  public. 

After  all,  let  us  be  just.  The  uninitiated  world  is  apt 
to  believe  that  there  is  sometimes,  in  the  outskirts  of 
fashion,  an  eagerness,  scarcely  consistent  with  self- 
respect,  to  enter  the  mansions  of  the  great.  Not  at 
all:  few  people  really  want  to  go  to  their  grand  par- 
ties. It  is  not  the  charms  of  conversation,  the  flash 
of  wit  or  the  blaze  of  beauty,  the  influential  presence 
of  the  powerful  and  celebrated,  all  the  splendour  and 


io8  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

refinement,  which,  combined,  offer  in  a  polished 
saloon  so  much  to  charm  the  taste  and  satisfy  the 
intellect,  that  the  mass  of  social  partisans  care  any- 
thing about.  What  they  want  is,  not  so  much  to  be 
in  her  ladyship's  house  as  in  her  ladyship's  list. 
After  the  party  at  Coningsby  Castle,  our  friend,  Mrs. 
Guy  Flouncey,  at  length  succeeded  in  being  asked  to 
one  of  Lady  St.  Julians'  assemblies.  It  was  a  great 
triumph,  and  Mrs.  Guy  Flouncey  determined  to  make 
the  most  of  it.  She  was  worthy  of  the  occasion. 
But  alas!  next  morning,  though  admitted  to  the  rout, 
Mrs.  Guy  Flouncey  was  left  out  of  the  list!  It  was  a 
severe  blow!  But  Mrs.  Guy  Flouncey  is  in  every  list 
now,  and  even  strikes  out  names  herself  But  there 
never  was  a  woman  who  advanced  with  such  dex- 
terity. 

Lord  Montacute  was  much  shocked,  when,  one 
morning,  taking  up  a  journal,  he  first  saw  his  name 
in  print.  He  was  alone,  and  he  blushed;  felt,  indeed, 
extremely  distressed,  when  he  found  that  the  English 
people  were  formally  made  acquainted  with  the  fact 
that  he  had  dined  on  the  previous  Saturday  with  the 
Earl  and  Countess  of  St.  Julians;  'a  grand  banquet,' 
of  which  he  was  quite  unconscious  until  he  read  it; 
and  that  he  was  afterwards  '  observed '  at  the  Opera. 

He  found  that  he  had  become  a  public  character, 
and  he  was  not  by  any  means  conscious  of  meriting 
celebrity.  To  be  pointed  at  as  he  walked  the  streets, 
were  he  a  hero,  or  had  done,  said,  or  written  any- 
thing that  anybody  remembered,  though  at  first  pain- 
ful and  embarrassing,  for  he  was  shy,  he  could 
conceive  ultimately  becoming  endurable,  and  not 
without  a  degree  of  excitement,  for  he  was  ambitious; 
but   to   be    looked    at   because   he  was  a  young  lord. 


TANCRED  109 

and  that  this  should  be  the  only  reason  why  the  pub- 
lic should  be  informed  where  he  dined,  or  where  he 
amused  himself,  seemed  to  him  not  only  vexatious 
but  degrading.  When  he  arrived,  however,  at  a 
bulletin  of  his  devotions,  he  posted  off  immediately 
to  the  Surrey  Canal  to  look  at  a  yacht  there,  and  re- 
solved not  to  lose  unnecessarily  one  moment  in  set- 
ting off  for  Jerusalem. 

He  had  from  the  first  busied  himself  about  the 
preparations  for  his  voyage  with  all  the  ardour  of 
youth;  that  is,  with  all  the  energy  of  inexperience, 
and  all  the  vigour  of  simplicity.  As  everything 
seemed  to  depend  upon  his  obtaining  a  suitable 
vessel,  he  trusted  to  no  third  person;  had  visited 
Cowes  several  times;  advertised  in  every  paper;  and 
had  already  met  with  more  than  one  yacht  which  at 
least  deserved  consideration.  The  duchess  was  quite 
frightened  at  his  progress.  *  I  am  afraid  he  has  found 
one,'  she  said  to  Lord  Eskdale;  'he  will  be  off  di- 
rectly.' 

Lord  Eskdale  shook  his  head.  'There  are  always 
things  of  this  sort  in  the  market.  He  will  inquire 
before  he  purchases,  and  he  will  find  that  he  has  got 
hold  of  a  slow  coach.' 

'A  slow  coach!'  said  the  duchess,  looking  inquir- 
ingly.    'What  is  that?' 

'  A  tub  that  sails  like  a  collier,  and  which,  instead 
of  taking  him  to  Jerusalem,  will  hardly  take  him  to 
Newcastle.' 

Lord  Eskdale  was  right.  Notwithstanding  all  his 
ardour,  all  his  inquiries,  visits  to  Cowes  and  the 
Surrey  Canal,  advertisements  and  answers  to  adver- 
tisements, time  flew  on,  and  Tancred  was  still  with- 
out a  yacht. 


no  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

In  this  unsettled  state,  Tancred  found  himself  one 
evening  at  Deloraine  House.  It  was  not  a  ball,  it 
was  only  a  dance,  brilliant  and  select;  but,  all  the 
same,  it  seemed  to  Tancred  that  the  rooms  could  not 
be  much  more  crowded.  The  name  of  the  Marquess 
of  Montacute,  as  it  was  sent  along  by  the  servants, 
attracted  attention.  Tancred  had  scarcely  entered  the 
world,  his  appearance  had  made  a  sensation,  every- 
body talked  of  him,  many  had  not  yet  seen  him. 

'Oh!  that  is  Lord  Montacute,'  said  a  great  lady, 
looking  through  her  glass;  'very  distinguished!' 

'I  tell  you  what,'  whispered  Mr.  Ormsby  to  Lord 
Valentine,  'you  young  men  had  better  look  sharp; 
Lord  Montacute  will  cut  you  all  out!' 

'Oh!  he  is  going  to  Jerusalem,'  said  Lord  Val- 
entine. 

'Jerusalem!'  said  Mr.  Ormsby,  shrugging  his 
shoulders.     'What  can  he  find  to  do  at  Jerusalem?' 

'What,  indeed,'  said  Lord  Milford.  'My  brother 
was  there  in  '39;  he  got  leave  after  the  bombardment 
of  Acre,  and  he  says  there  is  absolutely  no  sport  of 
any  kind.' 

'There  used  to  be  partridges  in  the  time  of  Jere- 
miah,' said  Mr.  Ormsby;  'at  least  they  told  us  so  at 
the  Chapel  Royal  last  Sunday,  where,  by-the-bye,  I 
saw  Lord  Montacute  for  the  first  time;  and  a  deuced 
good-looking  fellow  he  is,'  he  added,  musingly. 

'Well,  there  is  not  a  bird  in  the  whole  country 
now,'  said  Lord  Milford. 

'Montacute  does  not  care  for  sport,'  said  Lord 
Valentine. 

'What  does  he  care  for.?'  asked  Lord  Milford. 
'  Because,  if  he  wants  any  horses,  1  can  let  him  have 
some.' 


TANCRED  1 1 1 

'He  wants  to  buy  a  yacht,'  said  Lord  Valentine; 
'and  that  reminds  me  that  I  heard  to-day  Exmouth 
wanted  to  get  rid  of  "The  Flower  of  Yarrow,"  and 
I  think  it  would  suit  my  cousin.  I'll  tell  him  of  it.' 
And  he  followed  Tancred. 

'  You  and  Valentine  must  rub  up  your  harness,  Mil- 
ford,' said  Mr.  Ormsby;  'there  is  a  new  champion  in 
the  field.  We  are  talking  of  Lord  Montacute,'  continued 
Mr.  Ormsby,  addressing  himself  to  Mr.  Melton,  who 
joined  them;  M  tell  Milford  he  will  cut  you  all  out.' 

'Well,'  said  Mr.  Melton,  'for  my  part  I  have  had 
so  much  success,  that  I  have  no  objection,  by  way 
of  change,  to  be  for  once  eclipsed.' 

'Well  done.  Jemmy,'  said  Lord  Milford. 

'I  see,  Melton,'  said  Mr.  Ormsby,  'you  are  recon- 
ciled to  your  fate  like  a  philosopher.' 

'Well,  Montacute,'  said  Lord  St.  Patrick,  a  good- 
tempered,  witty  Milesian,  with  a  laughing  eye,  'when 
are  you  going  to  Jericho?' 

'Tell  me,'  said  Tancred,  in  reply,  and  rather  ear- 
nestly, 'who  is  that.?'  And  he  directed  the  attention 
of  Lord  St.  Patrick  to  a  young  lady,  rather  tall,  a 
briUiant  complexion,  classic  features,  a  profusion  of 
light  brown  hair,  a  face  of  intelligence,  and  a  figure 
rich  and  yet  graceful. 

'That  is  Lady  Constance  Rawleigh;  if  you  like,  I 
will  introduce  you  to  her.  She  is  my  cousin,  and 
deuced  clever.     Come  along!' 

In  the  meantime,  in  the  room  leading  to  the 
sculpture  gallery  where  they  are  dancing,  the  throng 
is  even  excessive.  As  the  two  great  divisions,  those 
who  would  enter  the  gallery  and  those  who  are 
quitting  it,  encounter  each  other,  they  exchange  fly- 
ing phrases  as  they  pass. 


112  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'They  told  me  you  had  gone  to  Paris!  !  have 
just  returned.  Dear  me,  how  time  flies!  Pretty 
dance,  is  it  not?  Very.  Do  you  know  whether  the 
Madlethorpes  mean  to  come  up  this  year,?  1  hardly 
know;  their  little  girl  is  very  ill.  Ah!  so  I  hear; 
what  a  pity,  and  such  a  fortune!  Such  a  pity  with 
such  a  fortune!  How  d'ye  do  ?  Mr.  Coningsby  here.? 
No;  he's  at  the  House.  They  say  he  is  a  very  close 
attendant.  It  interests  him.  Well,  Lady  Florentina, 
you  never  sent  me  the  dances.  Pardon,  but  you  will 
fmd  them  when  you  return.  I  lent  them  to  Augusta, 
and  she  would  copy  them.  Is  it  true  that  I  am  to 
congratulate  you.?  Why?  Lady  Blanche?  Oh!  that 
is  a  romance  of  Easter  week.  Well,  1  am  really  de- 
lighted; I  think  such  an  excellent  match  for  both; 
exactly  suited  to  each  other.  They  think  so.  Well, 
that  is  one  point.  How  well  Lady  Everingham  is 
looking!  She  is  quite  herself  again.  Quite.  Tell 
me,  have  you  seen  M.  de  Talleyrand  here?  I  spoke 
to  him  but  this  moment.  Shall  you  be  at  Lady 
Blair's  to-morrow?  No;  I  have  promised  to  go  to 
Mrs.  Guy  Flouncey's.  She  has  taken  Craven  Cottage, 
and  is  to  be  at  home  every  Saturday.  Well,  if  you 
are  going,  I  think  1  shall.  I  would;  everybody  will 
be  there.' 

Lord  Montacute  had  conversed  some  time  with 
Lady  Constance;  then  he  had  danced  with  her;  he 
had  hovered  about  her  during  the  evening.  It  was 
observed,  particularly  by  some  of  the  most  experienced 
mothers.  Lady  Constance  was  a  distinguished  beauty 
of  two  seasons;  fresh,  but  adroit.  It  was  understood 
that  she  had  refused  offers  of  a  high  calibre;  but  the 
rejected  still  sighed  about  her,  and  it  was  therefore 
supposed   that,  though    decided,    she    had    the    art    of 


TANCRED  113 

not  rendering  them  desperate.  One  at  least  of  them 
was  of  a  rank  equal  to  that  of  Tancred.  She  had 
the  reputation  of  being  very  clever,  and  of  being  able, 
if  it  pleased  her,  to  breathe  scorpions  as  well  as 
brilliants  and  roses.  It  had  got  about  that  she  ad- 
mired intellect,  and,  though  she  claimed  the  highest 
social  position,  that  a  booby  would  not  content  her, 
even  if  his  ears  were  covered  with  strawberry 
leaves. 

In  the  cloak-room,  Tancred  was  still  at  her  side, 
and  was  presented  to  her  mother,  Lady  Charmouth. 

'1  am  sorry  to  separate,'  said  Tancred. 

'And  so  am  I,'  said  Lady  Constance,  smiling; 
'but  one  advantage  of  this  life  is,  we  meet  our  friends 
every  day.' 

'I  am  not  going  anywhere  to-morrow,  where 
I  shall  meet  you,'  said  Tancred,  'unless  you  chance 
to  dine  at  the  Archbishop  of  York's.' 

'  I  am  not  going  to  dine  with  the  Archbishop  of 
York,'  said  Lady  Constance,  'but  I  am  going,  where 
everybody  else  is  going,  to  breakfast  with  Mrs.  Guy 
Flouncey,  at  Craven  Cottage.  Why,  will  not  you  be 
there  ? ' 

'1  have  not  the  honour  of  knowing  her,'  said 
Tancred. 

'That  is  not  of  the  slightest  consequence;  she  will 
be  very  happy  to  have  the  honour  of  knowing  you. 
1  saw  her  in  the  dancing-room,  but  it  is  not  worth 
while  waiting  to  speak  to  her  now.  You  shall  re- 
ceive an  invitation  the  moment  you  are  awake.' 

'  But  to-morrow  I  have  an  engagement.  I  have  to 
look  at  a  yacht.' 

'  But  that  you  can  look  at  on  Monday;  besides,  if 
you  wish   to  know   anything   about  yachts,  you   had 


114  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

better  speak  to  my  brother,  Fitz-Heron,  who  has  built 
more  than  any  man  alive.' 

*  Perhaps  he  has  one  that  he  wishes  to  part  with  ? ' 
said  Tancred. 

'  I  have  no  doubt  of  it.  You  can  ask  him  to- 
morrow at  Mrs.  Guy  Flouncey's.' 

*I  will.  Lady  Charmouth's  carriage  is  called.  May 
I  have  the  honour?'  said  Tancred,  offering  his  arm. 


CHAPTER   XIII, 


A  Feminine  Diplomatist. 

y  HERE  is  nothing  so  remarkable  as 
feminine  influence.  Although  the 
character  of  Tancred  was  not  com- 
pletely formed  —  for  that  result 
depends,  in  some  degree,  upon  the 
effect  of  circumstances  at  a  certain 
time  of  life,  as  well  as  on  the  impulse  of  a  natural 
bent  —  still  the  temper  of  his  being  was  profound  and 
steadfast.  He  had  arrived,  in  solitude  and  by  the 
working  of  his  own  thought,  at  a  certain  resolution, 
which  had  assumed  to  his  strong  and  fervent  imagi- 
nation a  sacred  character,  and  which  he  was  deter- 
mined to  accomplish  at  all  costs.  He  had  brought 
himself  to  the  point  that  he  would  not  conceive  an 
obstacle  that  should  baulk  him.  He  had  acceded  to 
the  conditions  which  had  been  made  by  his  parents, 
for  he  was  by  nature  dutiful,  and  wished  to  fulfil  his 
purpose,  if  possible,  with  their  sanction. 

Yet  he  had  entered  society  with  repugnance,  and 
found  nothing  in  its  general  tone  with  which  his 
spirit  harmonised.  He  was  alone  in  the  crowd;  si- 
lent, observing,  and  not  charmed.  There  seemed  to 
him    generally  a  want   of  simplicity  and   repose;   too 


ii6  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

much  flutter,  not  a  little  affectation.  People  met  in 
the  thronged  chambers,  and  interchanged  brief  words, 
as  if  they  were  always  in  a  hurry,  '  Have  you  been 
here  long?  Where  are  you  going  next?'  These 
were  the  questions  which  seemed  to  form  the  staple 
of  the  small  talk  of  a  fashionable  multitude.  Why, 
too,  was  there  a  smile  on  every  countenance,  which 
often  also  assumed  the  character  of  a  grin  ?  No  error 
so  common  or  so  grievous  as  to  suppose  that  a  smile 
is  a  necessary  ingredient  of  the  pleasing.  There  are 
few  faces  that  can  afford  to  smile.  A  smile  is  some- 
times bewitching,  in  general  vapid,  often  a  contor- 
tion. But  the  bewitching  smile  usually  beams  from 
the  grave  face.  It  is  then  irresistible.  Tancred, 
though  he  was  unaware  of  it,  was  gifted  with  this 
rare  spell.  He  had  inherited  it  from  his  mother;  a 
woman  naturally  earnest  and  serious,  and  of  a  singu- 
lar simplicity,  but  whose  heart  when  pleased  spoke 
in  the  dimpling  sunshine  of  her  cheek  with  exquisite 
beauty.  The  smiles  of  the  Duchess  of  Bellamont, 
however,  were  like  her  diamonds,  brilliant,  but  rarely 
worn. 

Tancred  had  not  mounted  the  staircase  of  Delo- 
raine  House  with  any  anticipation  of  pleasure.  His 
thoughts  were  far  away  amid  cities  of  the  desert,  and 
by  the  palmy  banks  of  ancient  rivers.  He  often  took 
refuge  in  these  exciting  and  ennobling  visions,  to 
maintain  himself  when  he  underwent  the  ceremony 
of  entering  a  great  house.  He  was  so  shy  in  little 
things,  that  to  hear  his  name  sounded  from  servant 
to  servant,  echoing  from  landing-place  to  landing- 
place,  was  almost  overwhelming.  Nothing  but  his 
pride,  which  was  just  equal  to  his  reserve,  prevented 
him   from   often   turning   back   on  the  stairs  and  pre- 


TANCRED  117 

cipitately  retreating.  And  yet  he  had  not  been  ten 
minutes  in  Deloraine  House,  before  he  had  absolutely 
requested  to  be  introduced  to  a  lady.  It  was  the 
first  time  he  had  ever  made  such  a  request. 

He  returned  home,  softly  musing.  A  tone  lingered 
in  his  ear;  he  recalled  the  countenance  of  one  absent. 
In  his  dressing-room  he  Hngered  before  he  retired, 
with  his  arm  on  the  mantel-piece,  and  gazing  with 
abstraction  on  the  fire. 

When  his  servant  called  him,  late  in  the  morning, 
he  delivered  to  him  a  card  from  Mrs.  Guy  Flouncey, 
inviting  him  on  that  day  to  Craven  Cottage,  at  three 
o'clock:  'dejeuner  at  four  o'clock  precisely.'  Tancred 
took  the  card,  looked  at  it,  and  the  letters  seemed  to 
cluster  together  and  form  the  countenance  of  Lady 
Constance.  'It  will  be  a  good  thing  to  go,'  he  said, 
'because  I  want  to  know  Lord  Fitz-Heron;  he  will  be 
of  great  use  to  me  about  my  yacht.'  So  he  ordered 
his  carriage  at  three  o'clock. 

The  reader  must  not  for  a  moment  suppose  that 
Mrs.  Guy  Flouncey,  though  she  was  quite  as  well 
dressed,  and  almost  as  pretty,  as  she  was  when  at 
Coningsby  Castle  in  1837,  was  by  any  means  the 
same  lady  who  then  strove  to  amuse  and  struggled 
to  be  noticed.  By  no  means.  In  1837,  Mrs.  Guy 
Flouncey  was  nobody;  in  1845,  Mrs.  Guy  Flouncey 
was  somebody,  and  somebody  of  very  great  impor- 
tance. Mrs.  Guy  Flouncey  had  invaded  society,  and 
had  conquered  it,  gradually,  but  completely,  like  the 
English  in  India.  Social  invasions  are  not  rare,  but 
they  are  seldom  fortunate,  or  success,  if  achieved,  is 
partial,  and  then  only  sustained  at  immense  cost,  like 
the  French  in  Algiers. 

The  Guy  Flounceys  were  not  people   of  great  for- 


ii8  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

tune.  They  had  a  good  fortune;  seven  or  eight 
thousand  a  year.  But  then,  with  an  air  of  great 
expenditure,  even  profusion,  there  was  a  basis  of 
good  management.  And  a  good  fortune  with  good 
management,  and  without  that  equivocal  luxury,  a 
great  country-house,  is  almost  equal  to  the  great  for- 
tune of  a  peer.  But  they  not  only  had  no  country- 
house,  they  had  no  children.  And  a  good  fortune, 
with  good  management,  no  country-house,  and  no 
children,  is  Aladdin's  lamp. 

Mr.  Guy  Flouncey  was  a  sporting  character.  His 
wife  had  impressed  upon  him  that  it  was  the  only 
way  in  which  he  could  become  fashionable  and 
acquainted  with  'the  best  men.'  He  knew  just 
enough  of  the  affair  not  to  be  ridiculous;  and,  for 
the  rest,  with  a  great  deal  of  rattle  and  apparent 
heedlessness  of  speech  and  deed,  he  was  really  an  ex- 
tremely selfish  and  sufficiently  shrewd  person,  who 
never  compromised  himself.  It  is  astonishing  with 
what  dexterity  Guy  Flouncey  could  extricate  himself 
from  the  jaws  of  a  friend,  who,  captivated  by  his 
thoughtless  candour  and  ostentatiously  good  heart, 
might  be  induced  to  request  Mr.  Flouncey  to  lend 
him  a  few  hundreds,  only  for  a  few  months,  or,  more 
diplomatically,  might  beg  his  friend  to  become  his 
security  for  a  few  thousands,  for  a  few  years. 

Mr.  Guy  Flouncey  never  refused  these  applications; 
they  were  exactly  those  to  which  it  delighted  his  heart 
to  respond,  because  nothing  pleased  him  more  than 
serving  a  friend.  But  then  he  always  had  to  write  a 
preliminary  letter  of  preparation  to  his  banker,  or  his 
steward,  or  his  confidential  solicitor;  and,  by  some 
contrivance  or  other,  without  offending  any  one, 
rather  with    the    appearance    of  conferring   an    obliga- 


TANCRED  119 

tion,  it  ended  always  by  Mr.  Guy  Flouncey  neither 
advancing  the  hundreds,  nor  guaranteeing  the  thou- 
sands. He  had,  indeed,  managed,  like  many  others, 
to  get  the  reputation  of  being  what  is  called  'a  good 
fellow;'  though  it  would  have  puzzled  his  panegyrists 
to  allege  a  single  act  of  his  that  evinced  a  good  heart. 

This  sort  of  pseudo  reputation,  whether  for  good 
or  for  evil,  is  not  uncommon  in  the  world.  Man  is 
mimetic;  judges  of  character  are  rare;  we  repeat  with- 
out thought  the  opinions  of  some  third  person,  who 
has  adopted  them  without  inquiry;  and  thus  it  often 
happens  that  a  proud,  generous  man  obtains  in  time 
the  reputation  of  being  'a.  screw,'  because  he  has  re- 
fused to  lend  money  to  some  impudent  spendthrift, 
who  from  that  moment  abuses  him;  and  a  cold- 
hearted,  civil-spoken  personage,  profuse  in  costless 
services,  with  a  spice  of  the  parasite  in  him,  or  per- 
haps hospitable  out  of  vanity,  is  invested  with  all  the 
thoughtless  sympathies  of  society,  and  passes  current 
as  that  most  popular  of  characters,   'a  good  fellow.' 

Guy  Flouncey's  dinners  began  to  be  talked  of 
among  men:  it  became  a  sort  of  fashion,  especially 
among  sporting  men,  to  dine  with  Mr.  Guy  Flouncey, 
and  there  they  met  Mrs.  Guy  Flouncey.  Not  an 
opening  ever  escaped  her.  If  a  man  had  a  wife,  and 
that  wife  was  a  personage,  sooner  or  later,  much  as 
she  might  toss  her  head  at  first,  she  was  sure  to 
visit  Mrs.  Guy  Flouncey,  and,  when  she  knew  her, 
she  was  sure  to  like  her.  The  Guy  Flounceys  never 
lost  a  moment;  the  instant  the  season  was  over,  they 
were  at  Cowes,  then  at  a  German  bath,  then  at  Paris, 
then  at  an  English  country-house,  then  in  London. 

Seven  years,  to  such  people,  was  half  a  century  of 
social  experience.     They  had    half  a  dozen  seasons  in 

15     B.  D.-21 


I20  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

every  year.  Still,  it  was  hard  work,  and  not  rapid.  At 
a  certain  point  they  stuck,  as  all  do.  Most  people,  then, 
give  it  up;  but  patience,  Buffon  tells  us,  is  genius,  and 
Mrs.  Guy  Flouncey  was,  in  her  way,  a  woman  of 
genius.  Their  dinners  were,  in  a  certain  sense,  es- 
tablished: these  in  return  brought  them  to  a  certain 
degree  into  the  dinner  world;  but  balls,  at  least  balls 
of  a  high  calibre,  were  few,  and  as  for  giving  a  ball 
herself,  Mrs.  Guy  Flouncey  could  no  more  presume 
to  think  of  that  than  of  attempting  to  prorogue  Par- 
liament. The  house,  however,  got  really  celebrated 
for  'the  best  men.'  Mrs.  Guy  Flouncey  invited  all  the 
young  dancing  lords  to  dinner.  Mothers  will  bring 
their  daughters  where  there  are  young  lords.  Mrs. 
Guy  Flouncey  had  an  opera-box  in  the  best  tier, 
which  she  took  only  to  lend  to  her  friends;  and  a  box 
at  the  French  play,  which  she  took  only  to  bribe  her 
foes.  They  were  both  at  everybody's  service,  like 
Mr.  Guy  Flouncey's  yacht,  provided  the  persons  who 
required  them  were  members  of  that  great  world  in 
which  Mrs.  Guy  Flouncey  had  resolved  to  plant  her- 
self. 

Mrs.  Guy  Flouncey  was  pretty;  she  was  a  flirt  on 
principle;  thus  she  had  caught  the  Marquess  of  Beau- 
manoir,  who,  if  they  chanced  to  meet,  always  spoke 
to  her,  which  gave  Mrs.  Guy  Flouncey  fashion.  But 
Mrs.  Guy  Flouncey  was  nothing  more  than  a  flirt. 
She  never  made  a  mistake;  she  was  born  with  strong 
social  instincts.  She  knew  that  the  fine  ladies  among 
whom,  from  the  first,  she  had  determined  to  place 
herself,  were  moral  martinets  with  respect  to  any  one 
not  born  among  themselves.  That  which  is  not  ob- 
served, or,  if  noticed,  playfully  alluded  to  in  the  con- 
duct of  a  patrician   dame,  is    visited    with   scorn   and 


TANCRED  121 

contumely  if  committed  by  some  'shocking  woman,' 
who  has  deprived  perhaps  a  countess  of  the  affec- 
tions of  a  husband  who  has  not  spoken  to  her  for 
years.  But  if  the  countess  is  to  lose  her  husband, 
she  ought  to  lose  him  to  a  viscountess,  at  least.  In 
this  way  the  earl  is  not  lost  to  'society.' 

A  great  nobleman  met  Mrs.  Guy  Flouncey  at  a 
country-house,  and  was  fairly  captivated  by  her.  Her 
pretty  looks,  her  coquettish  manner,  her  vivacity,  her 
charming  costume,  above  all,  perhaps,  her  imperturb- 
able good  temper,  pierced  him  to  the  heart.  The 
great  nobleman's  wife  had  the  weakness  to  be  an- 
noyed. Mrs.  Guy  Flouncey  saw  her  opportunity. 
She  threw  over  the  earl,  and  became  the  friend  of 
the  countess,  who  could  never  sufficiently  evince  her 
gratitude  to  the  woman  who  would  not  make  love 
to  her  husband.  This  friendship  was  the  incident  for 
which  Mrs.  Guy  Flouncey  had  been  cruising  for 
years.  Men  she  had  vanquished;  they  had  given  her 
a  sort  of  ton  which  she  had  prudently  managed.  She 
had  not  destroyed  herself  by  any  fatal  preference. 
Still,  her  fashion  among  men  necessarily  made  her 
unfashionable  among  women,  who,  if  they  did  not 
absolutely  hate  her,  which  they  would  have  done  had 
she  had  a  noble  lover,  were  determined  not  to  help 
her  up  the  social  ladder.  Now  she  had  a  great  friend, 
and  one  of  the  greatest  of  ladies.  The  moment  she 
had  pondered  over  for  years  had  arrived.  Mrs.  Guy 
Flouncey  determined  at  once  to  test  her  position. 
Mrs.  Guy  Flouncey  resolved  on  giving  a  ball. 

But  some  of  our  friends  in  the  country  will  say, 
'  Is  that  all  ?  Surely  it  required  no  very  great  resolu- 
tion, no  very  protracted  pondering,  to  determine  on 
giving  a  ball!     Where  is  the  difficulty?     The  lady  has 


122  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

but  to  light  up  her  house,  hire  the  fiddlers,  line  her 
staircase  with  American  plants,  perhaps  enclose  her 
balcony,  order  Mr.  Gunter  to  provide  plenty  of  the 
best  refreshments,  and  at  one  o'clock  a  superb  sup- 
per, and,  with  the  company  of  your  friends,  you 
have  as  good  a  ball  as  can  be  desired  by  the  young, 
or  endured  by  the  old.' 

Innocent  friends  in  the  country!  You  might  have 
all  these  things.  Your  house  might  be  decorated  like 
a  Russian  palace,  blazing  with  the  most  brilliant  hghts 
and  breathing  the  richest  odours;  you  might  have 
Jullien  presiding  over  your  orchestra,  and  a  banquet 
worthy  of  the  Romans.  As  for  your  friends,  they 
might  dance  until  daybreak,  and  agree  that  there 
never  was  an  entertainment  more  tasteful,  more 
sumptuous,  and,  what  would  seem  of  the  first  im- 
portance, more  merry.  But,  having  all  these  things, 
suppose  you  have  not  a  list  ?  You  have  given  a  ball, 
you  have  not  a  list.  The  reason  is  obvious:  you  are 
ashamed  of  your  guests.     You  are  not  in  '  society.' 

But  even  a  list  is  not  sufficient  for  success.  You 
must  also  get  a  day:  the  most  difficult  thing  in  the 
world.  After  inquiring  among  your  friends,  and 
studying  the  columns  of  the  Morning  Post,  you  dis- 
cover that,  five  weeks  hence,  a  day  is  disengaged. 
You  send  out  your  cards;  your  house  is  dismantled; 
your  lights  are  arranged;  the  American  plants  have 
arrived;  the  band,  perhaps  two  bands,  are  engaged. 
Mr.  Gunter  has  half  dressed  your  supper,  and  made 
all  your  ice,  when  suddenly,  within  eight-and-forty 
hours  of  the  festival  which  you  have  been  five  weeks 
preparing,  the  Marchioness  of  Deloraine  sends  out 
cards  for  a  ball  in  honour  of  some  European  sover- 
eign   who    has   just   alighted    on  our   isle,  and  means 


TANCRED  123 

to  stay  only  a  week,  and  at  whose  court,  twenty 
years  ago,  Lord  Deloraine  was  ambassador.  Instead 
of  receiving  your  list,  you  are  obliged  to  send  mes- 
sengers in  all  directions  to  announce  that  your  ball  is 
postponed,  although  you  are  perfectly  aware  that  not 
a  single  individual  would  have  been  present  whom 
you  would  have  cared  to  welcome. 

The  ball  is  postponed;  and  next  day  the  Morning 
Post  informs  us  it  is  postponed  to  that  day  week; 
and  the  day  after  you  have  circulated  this  interesting 
intelligence,  you  yourself,  perhaps,  have  the  gratifica- 
tion of  receiving  an  invitation,  for  the  same  day,  to 
Lady  St.  Julians':  with  'dancing'  neatly  engraved  in 
the  corner.  You  yield  in  despair;  and  there  are  some 
ladies  who,  with  every  qualification  for  an  excellent 
ball  —  guests,  Gunter,  American  plants,  pretty  daugh- 
ters—  have  been  watching  and  waiting  for  years  for 
an  opportunity  of  giving  it;  and  at  last,  quite  hope- 
less, at  the  end  of  the  season,  expend  their  funds  in 
a  series  of  Greenwich  banquets,  which  sometimes  for- 
tunately produce  the  results  expected  from  the  more 
imposing  festivity. 

You  see,  therefore,  that  giving  a  ball  is  not  that 
matter-of-course  affair  you  imagined;  and  that  for  Mrs. 
Guy  Flouncey  to  give  a  ball  and  succeed,  completely, 
triumphantly  to  succeed,  was  a  feat  worthy  of  that 
fine  social  general.  Yet  she  did  it.  The  means,  like 
everything  that  is  great,  were  simple.  She  induced 
her  noble  friend  to  ask  her  guests.  Her  noble  friend 
canvassed  for  her  as  if  it  were  a  county  election  of 
the  good  old  days,  when  the  representation  of  a  shire 
was  the  certain  avenue  to  a  peerage,  instead  of  being, 
as  it  is  now,  the  high  road  to  a  poor-law  commis- 
sionership.      Many  were   very  glad   to    make   the   ac- 


124  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

quaintance  of  Mrs.  Guy  Flouncey;  many  only  wanted 
an  excuse  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  Mrs.  Guy 
Flouncey;  they  went  to  her  party  because  they  were 
asked  by  their  dear  friend,  Lady  Kingcastle.  As  for 
the  potentates,  there  is  no  disguise  on  these  subjects 
among  them.  They  went  to  Mrs.  Guy  Flouncey's 
ball  because  one  who  was  their  equal,  not  only  in 
rank,  but  in  social  influence,  had  requested  it  as  a 
personal  favour,  she  herself,  when  the  occasion  offered, 
being  equally  ready  to  advance  their  wishes.  The 
fact  was,  that  affairs  were  ripe  for  the  recognition  of 
Mrs.  Guy  Flouncey  as  a  member  of  the  social  body. 
Circumstances  had  been  long  maturing.  The  Guy 
Flounceys,  who,  in  the  course  of  their  preparatory 
career,  had  hopped  from  Park  Crescent  to  Portman 
Square,  had  now  perched  upon  their  '  splendid  man- 
sion' in  Belgrave  Square.  Their  dinners  were  re- 
nowned. Mrs.  Guy  Flouncey  was  seen  at  all  the 
'best  balls,'  and  was  always  surrounded  by  the  'best 
men.'  Though  a  flirt  and  a  pretty  woman,  she  was  a 
discreet  parvenue,  who  did  not  entrap  the  affections  of 
noble  husbands.  Above  all,  she  was  the  friend  of 
Lady  Kingcastle,  who  called  her  and  her  husband 
'those  good  Guy  Flounceys.' 

The  ball  was  given;  you  could  not  pass  through 
Belgrave  Square  that  night.  The  list  was  published; 
it  formed  two  columns  of  the  Morning  Post.  Lady 
Kingcastle  was  honoured  by  the  friendship  of  a  royal 
duchess.  She  put  the  friendship  to  the  proof,  and  her 
royal  highness  was  seen  at  Mrs.  Guy  Flouncey's  ball. 
Imagine  the  reception,  the  canopy,  the  scarlet  cloth, 
the  'God  save  the  King'  from  the  band  of  the  first 
guards,  bivouacked  in  the  hall,  Mrs.  Guy  Flouncey 
herself  performing    her   part   as    if  she    had    received 


TANCRED  115 

princesses  of  the  blood  all  her  life;  so  reverent  and 
yet  so  dignified,  so  very  calm  and  yet  with  a  sort  of 
winning,  sunny  innocence.  Her  royal  highness  was 
quite  charmed  with  her  hostess,  praised  her  much  to 
Lady  Kingcastle,  told  her  that  she  was  glad  that  she 
had  come,  and  even  stayed  half  an  hour  longer  than 
Mrs.  Guy  Flouncey  had  dared  to  hope.  As  for  the 
other  guests,  the  peerage  was  gutted.  The  Dictator 
himself  was  there,  and,  the  moment  her  royal  high- 
ness had  retired,  Mrs.  Guy  Flouncey  devoted  herself 
to  the  hero.  All  the  great  ladies,  all  the  ambassadors, 
all  the  beauties,  a  full  chapter  of  the  Garter,  a  chorus 
among  the  'best  men'  that  it  was  without  doubt  the 
'best  ball'  of  the  year,  happy  Mrs.  Guy  Flouncey! 
She  threw  a  glance  at  her  swing-glass  while  Mr.  Guy 
Flouncey,  who  '  had  not  had  time  to  get  anything  the 
whole  evening,'  was  eating  some  supper  on  a  tray  in 
her  dressing-room  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and 
said,   'We  have  done  it  at  last,  my  love!' 

She  was  right;  and  from  that  moment  Mrs.  Guy 
Flouncey  was  asked  to  all  the  great  houses,  and  be- 
came a  lady  of  the  most  unexceptionable  ton. 

But  all  this  time  we  are  forgetting  her  d6jetlner, 
and  that  Tancred  is  winding  his  way  through  the 
garden  lanes  of  Fulham  to  reach  Craven  Cottage. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 
The  Coningsbys. 


HE  day  was  brilliant:  music,  sun- 
shine, ravishing  bonnets,  little  para- 
sols that  looked  like  large  butterflies. 
The  new  phaetons  glided  up, 
then  carriages-and-four  swept  by; 
in  general  the  bachelors  were  en- 
sconced in  their  comfortable  broughams,  with  their 
glasses  down  and  their  blinds  drawn,  to  receive  the 
air  and  to  exclude  the  dust;  some  less  provident  were 
cavaliers,  but,  notwithstanding  the  well-watered  roads, 
seemed  a  little  dashed  as  they  cast  an  anxious  glance 
at  the  rose  which  adorned  their  button-hole,  or  fan- 
cied that  they  felt  a  flying  black  from  a  London  chim- 
ney light  upon  the  tip  of  their  nose. 

Within,  the  winding  walks  dimly  echoed  whisper- 
ing words;  the  lawn  was  studded  with  dazzling 
groups;  on  the  terrace  by  the  river  a  dainty  multitude 
beheld  those  celebrated  waters  which  furnish  floun- 
ders to  Richmond  and  whitebait  to  Blackwall. 

'Mrs.  Coningsby  shall  decide,'  said  Lord  Beau- 
manoir. 

Edith  and  Lady   Theresa    Lyle   stood    by   a   statue 
that   glittered   in   the   sun,  surrounded  by  a  group  of 
(126) 


TANCRED  127 

cavaliers;  among  them  Lord  Beaumanoir,  Lord  Mil- 
ford,  Lord  Eugene  de  Vere,  Her  figure  was  not  less 
lithe  and  graceful  since  her  marriage,  a  little  more 
voluptuous;  her  rich  complexion,  her  radiant  and 
abounding  hair,  and  her  long  grey  eye,  now  melting 
with  pathos,  and  now  twinkling  with  mockery,  pre- 
sented one  of  those  faces  of  witchery  which  are  be- 
yond beauty. 

'Mrs.  Coningsby  shall  decide.' 

'It  is  the  very  thing,'  said  Edith,  'that  Mrs.  Con- 
ingsby will  never  do.  Decision  destroys  suspense, 
and  suspense  is  the  charm  of  existence.' 

'But  suspense  may  be  agony,'  said  Lord  Eugene 
de  Vere,  casting  a  glance  that  would  read  the  inner- 
most heart  of  Edith. 

'And  decision  may  be  despair,'  said  Mrs.  Con- 
ingsby. 

'  But  we  agreed  the  other  night  that  you  were  to 
decide  everything  for  us,' said  Lord  Beaumanoir;  'and 
you  consented.' 

'  I  consented  the  other  night,  and  1  retract  my 
consent  to-day;  and  1  am  consistent,  for  that  is  inde- 
cision.' 

'You  are  consistent  in  being  charming,'  said  Lord 
Eugene. 

'Pleasing  and  original!'  said  Edith.  '  By-the-bye, 
when  I  consented  that  the  melancholy  Jaques  should 
be  one  of  my  aides-de-camp  I  expected  him  to  main- 
tain his  reputation,  not  only  for  gloom  but  wit.  I 
think  you  had  better  go  back  to  the  forest,  Lord  Eu- 
gene, and  see  if  you  cannot  stumble  upon  a  fool  who 
may  drill  you  in  repartee.  How  do  you  do.  Lady 
Riddlesworth?'  and  she  bowed  to  two  ladies  who 
seemed   inclined   to    stop,  but    Edith    added,   '  1    heard 


128  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

great  applications  for  you  this  moment  on  the  ter- 
race.' 

'Indeed!'  exclaimed  the  ladies;  and  they  moved  on. 

'When  Lady  Riddlesworth  joins  the  conversation 
it  is  like  a  stoppage  in  the  streets.  1  invented  a 
piece  of  intelligence  to  clear  the  wav,  as  you  would 
call  out  Fire!  or  The  queen  is  coming!  There  used 
to  be  things  called  vers  de  socUU,  which  were  not 
poetry;  and  1  do  not  see  why  there  should  not  be 
social  illusions  which  are  not  fibs.' 

'I  entirely  agree  with  you,'  said  Lord  Milford; 
'and  I  move  that  we  practise  them  on  a  large  scale.' 

'  Like  the  verses,  they  might  make  life  more  light,' 
said  Lady  Theresa. 

'We  are  surrounded  by  illusions,'  said  Lord  Eugene, 
in  a  melancholy  tone. 

'And  shams  of  all  descriptions,'  said  Edith;  'the 
greatest,  a  man  who  pretends  he  has  a  broken  heart 
when  all  the  time  he  is  full  of  fun.' 

'There  are  a  great  many  men  who  have  broken 
hearts,'  said  Lord  Beaumanoir,  smiling  sorrowfully. 

'Cracked  heads  are  much  commoner,'  said  Edith, 
'  you  may  rely  upon  it.  The  only  man  1  really  know 
with  a  broken  heart  is  Lord  Fitz-Booby.  1  do  think 
that  paying  Mount-Dullard's  debts  has  broken  his 
heart.  He  takes  on  so;  'tis  piteous.  "My  dear  Mrs. 
Coningsby,"  he  said  to  me  last  night,  "only  think 
what  that  young  man  might  have  been;  he  might 
have  been  a  lord  of  the  treasury  in  '3^;  why,  if  he 
had  had  nothing  more  in  '41,  why,  there's  a  loss  of 
between  four  and  five  thousand  pounds;  but  with  my 
claims  —  Sir  Robert,  having  thrown  the  father  over, 
was  bound  on  his  own  principle  to  provide  for  the 
son  —  he  might  have  got   something  better;  and  now 


TANCRED 


129 


he  comes  to  me  with  his  debts,  and  his  reason  for 
paying  his  debts,  too,  Mrs.  Coningsby,  because  he  is 
going  to  be  married;  to  be  married  to  a  woman  who 
has  not  a  shilling.  Why,  if  he  had  been  in  office, 
and  only  got  1,500/.  a  year,  and  married  a  woman 
with  only  another  1,500/.,  he  would  have  had  3,000/. 
a  year,  Mrs.  Coningsby;  and  now  he  has  nothing  of 
his  own  except  some  debts,  which  he  wants  me  to 
pay,  and  settle  3,000/.  a  year  on  him  besides."  ' 

They  all  laughed. 

'Ah!'  said  Mrs.  Coningsby,  with  a  resemblance 
which  made  all  start,  'you  should  have  heard  it  with 
the  Fitz-Buoby  voice.' 

The  character  of  a  woman  rapidly  develops  after 
marriage,  and  sometimes  seems  to  change,  when  in 
fact  it  is  only  complete.  Hitherto  we  have  known 
Edith  only  in  her  girlhood,  bred  up  in  a  life  of  great 
simplicity,  and  under  the  influence  of  a  sweet  fancy, 
or  an  absorbing  passion.  Coningsby  had  been  a  hero 
to  her  before  they  met,  the  hero  of  nursery  hours  and 
nursery  tales.  Experience  had  not  disturbed  those 
dreams.  From  the  moment  they  encountered  each 
other  at  Millbank,  he  assumed  that  place  in  her  heart 
which  he  had  long  occupied  in  her  imagination;  and, 
after  their  second  meeting  at  Paris,  her  existence  was 
merged  in  love.  All  the  crosses  and  vexations  of 
their  early  affection  only  rendered  this  state  of  being 
on  her  part  more  profound  and  engrossing. 

But  though  Edith  was  a  most  happy  wife,  and 
blessed  with  two  children  worthy  of  their  parents, 
love  exercises  quite  a  different  influence  upon  a 
woman  when  she  has  married,  and  especially  when 
she  has  assumed  a  social  position  which  deprives  life 
of  all    its    real   cares.     Under  any  circumstances,  that 


I30  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

suspense,  which,  with  all  its  occasional  agony,  is  the 
great  spring  of  excitement,  is  over;  but,  generally 
speaking,  it  will  be  found,  notwithstanding  the 
proverb,  that  with  persons  of  a  noble  nature,  the 
straitened  fortunes  which  they  share  together,  and 
manage,  and  mitigate  by  mutual  forbearance,  are  more 
conducive  to  the  sustainment  of  a  high-toned  and 
romantic  passion,  than  a  luxurious  prosperity. 

The  wife  of  a  man  of  limited  fortune,  who,  by 
contrivance,  by  the  concealed  sacrifice  of  some  ne- 
cessity of  her  own,  supplies  him  with  some  slight 
enjoyment  which  he  has  never  asked,  but  which  she 
fancies  he  may  have  sighed  for,  experiences,  without 
doubt,  a  degree  of  pleasure  far  more  ravishing  than 
the  patrician  dame  who  stops  her  barouche  at  Storr 
and  Mortimer's,  and  out  of  her  pin-money  buys  a 
trinket  for  the  husband  whom  she  loves,  and  which 
he  finds,  perhaps,  on  his  dressing-table,  on  the  anni- 
versary of  their  wedding-day.  That's  pretty  too  and 
touching,  and  should  be  encouraged;  but  the  other 
thrills,  and  ends  in  an  embrace  that  is  still  poetry. 

The  Coningsbys  shortly  after  their  marriage  had 
been  called  to  the  possession  of  a  great  fortune,  for 
which,  in  every  sense,  they  were  well  adapted.  But 
a  great  fortune  necessarily  brings  with  it  a  great 
change  of  habits.  The  claims  of  society  proportion- 
ately increase  with  your  income.  You  live  less  for 
yourselves.  For  a  selfish  man,  merely  looking  to  his 
luxurious  ease,  Lord  Eskdale's  idea  of  having  ten 
thousand  a  year,  while  the  world  suppose  you  have 
only  five,  is  the  right  thing.  Coningsby,  however, 
looked  to  a  great  fortune  as  one  of  the  means,  rightly 
employed,  of  obtaining  great  power.  He  looked  also 
to  his  wife  to  assist  him  in   this  enterprise. 


TANCRED  131 

Edith,  from  a  native  impulse,  as  well  as  from  love 
for  him,  responded  to  his  wish.  When  they  were 
in  the  country,  Hellingsley  was  a  perpetual  stream 
and  scene  of  splendid  hospitality;  there  the  flower  of 
London  society  mingled  with  all  the  aristocracy  of 
the  county.  Leander  was  often  retained  specially, 
like  a  Wilde  or  a  Kelly,  to  renovate  the  genius  of 
the  habitual  chief:  not  of  the  circuit,  but  the  kitchen. 
A  noble  mansion  in  Park  Lane  received  them  the 
moment  Parliament  assembled.  Coningsby  was  then 
immersed  in  affairs,  and  counted  entirely  on  Edith  to 
cherish  those  social  influences  which  in  a  public 
career  are  not  less  important  than  political  ones.  The 
whole  weight  of  the  management  of  society  rested  on 
her.  She  had  to  cultivate  his  alliances,  keep  together 
his  friends,  arrange  his  dinner-parties,  regulate  his  en- 
gagements. What  time  for  romantic  love  ?  They 
were  never  an  hour  alone.  Yet  they  loved  not  less; 
but  love  had  taken  the  character  of  enjoyment  instead 
of  a  wild  bewitchment;  and  life  had  become  an  airy 
bustle,  instead  of  a  storm,  an  agony,  a  hurricane  of 
the  heart. 

in  this  change  in  the  disposition,  not  in  the  de- 
gree, of  their  affection,  for  there  was  the  same  amount 
of  sweet  solicitude,  only  it  was  duly  apportioned  to 
everything  that  interested  them,  instead  of  being  ex- 
clusively devoted  to  each  other,  the  character  of  Edith, 
which  had  been  swallowed  up  by  the  absorbing  pas- 
sion, rapidly  developed  itself  amid  the  social  circum- 
stances. She  was  endued  with  great  vivacity,  a  san- 
guine and  rather  saucy  spirit,  with  considerable  talents, 
and  a  large  share  of  feminine  vanity:  that  divine  gift 
which  makes  woman  charming.  Entirely  sympathis- 
ing with  her  husband,  labouring  with  zeal  to  advance 


132  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

his  views,  and  living  perpetually  in  the  world,  all  these 
qualities  came  to  light.  During  her  first  season  she 
had  been  very  quiet,  not  less  observant,  making  her- 
self mistress  of  the  ground.  It  was  prepared  for  her 
next  campaign.  When  she  evinced  a  disposition  to 
take  a  lead,  although  found  faultless  the  first  year,  it 
was  suddenly  remembered  that  she  was  a  manufac- 
turer's daughter;  and  she  was  once  described  by  a 
great  lady  as  '  that  person  whom  Mr.  Coningsby  had 
married,  when  Lord  Monmouth  cut  him  off  with  a 
shilling.' 

But  Edith  had  anticipated  these  difficulties,  and  was 
not  to  be  daunted.  Proud  of  her  husband,  confident 
in  herself,  supported  by  a  great  establishment,  and 
having  many  friends,  she  determined  to  exchange 
salutes  with  these  social  sharp-shooters,  who  are 
scarcely  as  courageous  as  they  are  arrogant.  It  was 
discovered  that  Mrs.  Coningsby  could  be  as  malicious 
as  her  assailants,  and  far  more  epigrammatic.  She 
could  describe  in  a  sentence  and  personify  in  a  phrase. 
The  mot  was  circulated,  the  nom  de  nique  repeated. 
Surrounded  by  a  brilliant  band  of  youth  and  wit,  even 
her  powers  of  mimickry  were  revealed  to  the  initiated. 
More  than  one  social  tyrant,  whom  all  disliked,  but 
whom  none  had  ventured  to  resist,  was  made  ridicu- 
lous. Flushed  by  success  and  stimulated  by  admira- 
tion, Edith  flattered  herself  that  she  was  assisting  her 
husband  while  she  was  gratifying  her  vanity.  Her 
adversaries  soon  vanished,  but  the  powers  that  had 
vanquished  them  were  too  choice  to  be  forgotten  or 
neglected.  The  tone  of  raillery  she  had  assumed  for 
the  moment,  and  extended,  in  self-defence,  to  per- 
sons, was  adopted  as  a  habit,  and  infused  itself  over 
affairs  in  general. 


TANCRED  133 

Mrs.  Coningsby  was  the  fashion;  she  was  a  wit  as 
well  as  a  beauty;  a  fascinating  droll;  dazzling  and 
bewitching,  the  idol  of  every  youth.  Eugene  de  Vere 
was  roused  from  his  premature  exhaustion,  and  at  last 
found  excitement  again.  He  threw  himself  at  her 
feet;  she  laughed  at  him.  He  asked  leave  to  follow 
her  footsteps;  she  consented.  He  was  only  one  of  a 
band  of  slaves.  Lord  Beaumanoir,  still  a  bachelor,  al- 
ways hovered  about  her,  feeding  on  her  laughing 
words  with  a  mild  melancholy,  and  sometimes  bandy- 
ing repartee  with  a  kind  of  tender  and  stately  despair. 
His  sister.  Lady  Theresa  Lyle,  was  Edith's  great 
friend.  Their  dispositions  had  some  resemblance. 
Marriage  had  developed  in  both  of  them  a  frolic  grace. 
They  hunted  in  couple;  and  their  sport  was  brilliant. 
Many  things  may  be  said  by  a  strong  female  alliance, 
that  would  assume  quite  a  different  character  were 
they  even  to  fall  from  the  lips  of  an  Aspasia  to  a  cir- 
cle of  male  votaries;  so  much  depends  upon  the  scene 
and  the  characters,  the  mode  and  the  manner. 

The  good-natured  world  would  sometimes  pause 
in  its  amusement,  and,  after  dwelling  with  statistical 
accuracy  on  the  number  of  times  Mrs.  Coningsby  had 
danced  the  polka,  on  the  extraordinary  things  she 
said  to  Lord  Eugene  de  Vere,  and  the  odd  things  she 
and  Lady  Theresa  Lyle  were  perpetually  doing,  would 
wonder,  with  a  face  and  voice  of  innocence,  'how 
Mr.  Coningsby  liked  all  this?'  There  is  no  doubt 
what  was  the  anticipation  by  the  good-natured  world 
of  Mr.  Coningsby's  feelings.  But  they  were  quite 
mistaken.  There  was  nothing  that  Mr.  Coningsby 
liked  more.  He  wished  his  wife  to  become  a  social 
power;  and  he  wished  his  wife  to  be  amused.  He 
saw  that,  with  the  surface  of  a  life  of  levity,  she    al- 


134  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

ready  exercised  considerable  influence,  especially  over 
the  young;  and  independently  of  such  circumstances 
and  considerations,  he  was  delighted  to  have  a  wife 
who  was  not  afraid  of  going  into  society  by  herself; 
not  one  whom  he  was  sure  to  find  at  home  when  he 
returned  from  the  House  of  Commons,  not  reproach- 
ing him  exactly  for  her  social  sacrifices,  but  looking  a 
victim,  and  thinking  that  she  retained  her  hus- 
band's heart  by  being  a  mope.  Instead  of  that  Con- 
ingsby  wanted  to  be  amused  when  he  came  home, 
and  more  than  that,  he  wanted  to  be  instructed  in  the 
finest  learning  in  the  world. 

As  some  men  keep  up  their  Greek  by  reading 
every  day  a  chapter  in  the  New  Testament,  so  Con- 
ingsby  kept  up  his  knowledge  of  the  world,  by  al- 
ways, once  at  least  in  the  four-and-twenty  hours, 
having  a  delightful  conversation  with  his  wife.  The 
processes  were  equally  orthodox.  Exempted  from  the 
tax  of  entering  general  society,  free  to  follow  his  own 
pursuits,  and  to  live  in  that  political  world  which 
alone  interested  him,  there  was  not  an  anecdote,  a 
trait,  a  good  thing  said,  or  a  bad  thing  done,  which 
did  not  reach  him  by  a  fine  critic  and  a  lively  nar- 
rator. He  was  always  behind  those  social  scenes 
which,  after  all,  regulate  the  political  performers, 
knew  the  springs  of  the  whole  machinery,  the  chang- 
ings  and  the  shiftings,  the  fiery  cars  and  golden 
chariots  which  men  might  mount,  and  the  trap-doors 
down  which  men  might  fall. 

But  the  Marquess  of  Montacute  is  making  his  rev- 
erence to  Mrs.  Guy  Flouncey. 

There  was  not  at  this  moment  a  human  being 
whom  that  lady  was  more  glad  to  see  at  her  cUjeHner; 
but   she  did    not  show  it  in  the    least.     Her   self-pos- 


1 


TANCRED 


^3S 


session,  indeed,  was  the  finest  work  of  art  of  the 
day,  and  ought  to  be  exhibited  at  the  Adelaide  Gal- 
lery. Like  all  mechanical  inventions  of  a  high  class, 
it  had  been  brought  to  perfection  very  gradually,  and 
after  many  experiments.  A  variety  of  combinations, 
and  an  almost  infinite  number  of  trials,  must  have 
been  expended  before  the  too-startling  laugh  of  Con- 
ingsby  Castle  could  have  subsided  into  the  haughty 
suavity  of  that  sunny  glance,  which  was  not  familiar 
enough  for  a  smile,  nor  foolish  enough  for  a  simper. 
As  for  the  rattling  vein  which  distinguished  her  in 
the  days  of  our  first  acquaintance,  that  had  long 
ceased.  Mrs.  Guy  Flouncey  now  seemed  to  share 
the  prevalent  passion  for  genuine  Saxon,  and  used 
only  monosyllables;  while  Fine-ear  himself  would 
have  been  sometimes  at  fault  had  he  attempted  to 
give  a  name  to  her  delicate  breathings.  In  short,  Mrs. 
Guy  Flouncey  never  did  or  said  anything  but  in  '  the 
best  taste.'  It  may,  however,  be  a  question,  whether 
she  ever  would  have  captivated  Lord  Monmouth,  and 
those  who  like  a  little  nature  and  fun,  if  she  had 
made  her  first  advances  in  this  style.  But  that  showed 
the  greatness  of  the  woman.  Then  she  was  ready 
for  anything  for  promotion.  That  was  the  age  of 
forlorn  hopes;  but  now  she  was  a  general  of  division, 
and  had  assumed  a  becoming  carriage. 

This  was  the  first  dejeihier  at  which  Tancred  had 
been  present.  He  rather  liked  it.  The  scene,  lawns 
and  groves  and  a  glancing  river,  the  air,  the  music, 
our  beautiful  countrywomen,  who,  with  their  bril- 
liant complexions  and  bright  bonnets,  do  not  shrink 
from  the  daylight,  these  are  circumstances  which, 
combined  with  youth  and  heahh,  make  a  morning 
festival,  say  what   they  like,  particularly   for  the    first 


136  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

time,  very  agreeable,  even  if  one  be  dreaming  of  Jeru- 
salem. Strange  power  of  the  world,  that  the  mo- 
ment we  enter  it,  our  great  conceptions  dwarf!  In 
youth  it  is  quick  sympathy  that  degrades  them;  more 
advanced,  it  is  the  sense  of  the  ridiculous.  But  per- 
haps these  reveries  of  solitude  may  not  be  really 
great  conceptions;  perhaps  they  are  only  exaggera- 
tions; vague,  indefinite,  shadowy,  formed  on  no 
sound  principles,  founded  on  no  assured  basis. 

Why  should  Tancred  go  to  Jerusalem?  What 
does  it  signify  to  him  whether  there  be  religious 
truth  or  political  justice?  He  has  youth,  beauty,  rank, 
wealth,  power,  and  all  in  excess.  He  has  a  mind  that 
can  comprehend  their  importance  and  appreciate  their 
advantages.  What  more  does  he  require?  Unreason- 
able boy!  And  if  he  reach  Jerusalem,  why  should 
he  find  religious  truth  and  political  justice  there?  He 
can  read  of  it  in  the  travelling  books,  written  by 
young  gentlemen,  with  the  best  letters  of  introduc- 
tion to  all  the  consuls.  They  tell  us  what  it  is,  a 
third-rate  city  in  a  stony  wilderness.  Will  the  Provi- 
dence of  fashion  prevent  this  great  folly  about  to  be 
perpetrated  by  one  born  to  be  fashion's  most  bril- 
liant subject  ?  A  folly,  too,  which  may  end  in  a 
catastrophe?  His  parents,  indeed,  have  appealed  in 
vain;  but  the  sneer  of  the  world  will  do  more  than 
the  supplication  of  the  father.  A  mother's  tear  may 
be  disregarded,  but  the  sigh  of  a  mistress  has 
changed  the  most  obdurate.  We  shall  see.  At 
present  Lady  Constance  Rawleigh  expresses  her 
pleasure  at  Tancred's  arrival,  and  his  heart  beats  a 
little. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Disenchantment. 

HEY  are  talking  about  it,'  said  Lord 
Eskdale  to  tiie  duciiess,  as  she 
looked  up  to  iiim  with  an  ex- 
pression of  the  deepest  interest. 
'He  asked  St.  Patrick  to  intro- 
duce him  to  her  at  Deloraine  House, 
danced  with  her,  was  with  her  the  whole  evening, 
went  to  the  breakfast  on  Saturday  to  meet  her,  in- 
stead of  going  to  Blackwall  to  see  a  yacht  he  was 
after.' 

'If  it  were   only   Katherine,'  said   the   duchess,   'I 
should  be  quite  happy.' 

'Don't  be  uneasy,'  said  Lord  Eskdale;  'there  will 
be  plenty  of  Katherines  and  Constances,  too,  before 
he  finishes.  The  affair  is  not  much,  but  it  shows,  as 
I  foretold,  that,  the  moment  he  found  something 
more  amusing,  his  taste  for  yachting  would  pass  off.' 
'You  are  right,  you  always  are.' 
What  really  was  this  affair,  which  Lord  Eskdale 
held  lightly  ?  With  a  character  like  Tancred,  every- 
thing may  become  important.  Profound  and  yet 
simple,  deep  in  self-knowledge  yet  inexperienced,  his 
reserve,  which    would    screen    him    from    a    thousand 

(•37) 


138  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

dangers,  was  just  the  quality  which  would  insure  his 
thraldom  by  the  individual  who  could  once  effectually 
melt  the  icy  barrier  and  reach  the  central  heat.  At 
this  moment  of  his  life,  with  all  the  repose,  and 
sometimes  even  the  high  ceremony,  on  the  surface, 
he  was  a  being  formed  for  high-reaching  exploits, 
ready  to  dare  everything  and  reckless  of  all  conse- 
quences, if  he  proposed  to  himself  an  object  which 
he  believed  to  be  just  and  great.  This  temper  of 
mind  would,  in  all  things,  have  made  him  act  with 
that  rapidity,  which  is  rashness  with  the  weak,  and 
decision  with  the  strong.  The  influence  of  woman 
on  him  was  novel.  It  was  a  disturbing  influence,  on 
which  he  had  never  counted  in  those  dreams  and 
visions  in  which  there  had  figured  more  heroes  than 
heroines.  In  the  imaginary  interviews  in  which  he 
had  disciplined  his  solitary  mind,  his  antagonists  had 
been  statesmen,  prelates,  sages,  and  senators,  with 
whom  he  struggled   and  whom  he  vanquished. 

He  was  not  unequal  in  practice  to  his  dreams. 
His  shyness  would  have  vanished  in  an  instant  before 
a  great  occasion;  he  could  have  addressed  a  public 
assembly;  he  was  capable  of  transacting  important  af- 
fairs. These  were  all  situations  and  contingencies 
which  he  had  foreseen,  and  which  for  him  were  not 
strange,  for  he  had  become  acquainted  with  them  in 
his  reveries.  But  suddenly  he  was  arrested  by  an  in- 
fluence for  which  he  was  unprepared;  a  precious 
stone  made  him  stumble  who  was  to  have  scaled  the 
Alps.  Why  should  the  voice,  the  glance,  of  another 
agitate  his  heart  ?  The  cherubim  of  his  heroic  thoughts 
not  only  deserted  him,  but  he  was  left  without  the 
guardian  angel  of  his  shyness.  He  melted,  and  the 
iceberg  might  degenerate  into  a  puddle. 


TANCRED  139 

Lord  Eskdale  drew  his  conclusions  like  a  clever 
man  of  the  world,  and  in  general  he  would  have 
been  right;  but  a  person  like  Tancred  was  in  much 
greater  danger  of  being  captured  than  a  common- 
place youth  entering  life  with  second-hand  experience, 
and  living  among  those  who  ruled  his  opinions  by 
their  sneers  and  sarcasms.  A  malicious  tale  by  a 
spiteful  woman,  the  chance  ribaldry  of  a  club-room 
window,  have  often  been  the  impure  agencies  which 
have  saved  many  a  youth  from  committing  a  great 
folly;  but  Tancred  was  beyond  all  these  influences. 
If  they  had  been  brought  to  bear  on  him,  they  would 
rather  have  precipitated  the  catastrophe.  His  imagina- 
tion would  have  immediately  been  summoned  to  the 
rescue  of  his  offended  pride;  he  would  have  invested  the 
object  of  his  regard  with  supernatural  qualities,  and 
consoled  her  for  the  impertinence  of  society  by  his 
devotion. 

Lady  Constance  was  clever;  she  talked  like  a  mar- 
ried woman,  was  critical,  yet  easy;  and  having  gua- 
noed her  mind  by  reading  French  novels,  had  a 
variety  of  conclusions  on  all  social  topics,  which  she 
threw  forth  with  unfaltering  promptness,  and  with 
the  well-arranged  air  of  an  impromptu.  These  were 
all  new  to  Tancred,  and  startling.  He  was  attracted 
by  the  brilliancy,  though  he  often  regretted  the  tone, 
which  he  ascribed  to  the  surrounding  corruption  from 
which  he  intended  to  escape,  and  almost  wished  to 
save  her  at  the  same  time.  Sometimes  Tancred 
looked  unusually  serious;  but  at  last  his  rare  and  bril- 
liant smile  beamed  upon  one  who  really  admired  him, 
was  captivated  by  his  intellect,  his  freshness,  his  differ- 
ence from  all  around,  his  pensive  beauty  and  his 
grave    innocence.     Lady     Constance    was    free    from 


I40  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

affectation;  she  was  frank  and  natural;  she  did  not 
conceal  the  pleasure  she  had  in  his  society;  she 
conducted  herself  with  that  dignified  facility,  be- 
coming a  young  lady  who  had  already  refused  the 
hands  of  two  future  earls,  and  of  the  heir  of  the 
Clan-Alpins. 

A  short  time  after  the  d^jetlner  at  Craven  Cottage, 
Lord  Montacute  called  on  Lady  Charmouth.  She  was 
at  home,  and  received  him  with  great  cordiality, 
looking  up  from  her  frame  of  worsted  work  with  a 
benign  maternal  expression;  while  Lady  Constance, 
who  was  writing  an  urgent  reply  to  a  note  that  had 
just  arrived,  said  rapidly  some  agreeable  words  of 
welcome,  and  continued  her  task.  Tancred  seated 
himself  by  the  mother,  made  an  essay  in  that  small 
talk  in  which  he  was  by  no  means  practised,  but 
Lady  Charmouth  helped  him  on  without  seeming  to 
do  so.  The  note  was  at  length  dispatched,  Tancred 
of  course  still  remaining  at  the  mother's  side,  and  Lady 
Constance  too  distant  for  his  wishes.  He  had  noth- 
ing to  say  to  Lady  Charmouth;  he  began  to  feel  that 
the  pleasure  of  feminine  society  consisted  in  talking 
alone  to  her  daughter. 

While  he  was  meditating  a  retreat,  and  yet  had 
hardly  courage  to  rise  and  walk  alone  down  a  large 
long  room,  a  new  guest  was  announced.  Tancred 
rose,  and  murmured  good-morning;  and  yet,  some- 
how or  other,  instead  of  quitting  the  apartment,  he 
went  and  seated  himself  by  Lady  Constance.  It  really 
was  as  much  the  impulse  of  shyness,  which  sought  a 
nook  of  refuge,  as  any  other  feeling  that  actuated 
him;  but  Lady  Constance  seemed  pleased,  and  said  in 
a  low  voice  and  in  a  careless  tone,  "Tis  Lady  Bran- 
cepeth;    do  you    know    her?     Mamma's  great  friend;' 


TANCRED  141 

which  meant,  you  need  give  yourself  no  trouble  to 
talk  to  any  one  but  myself. 

After  making  herself  very  agreeable,  Lady  Con- 
stance took  up  a  book  which  was  at  hand,  and  said, 
'Do  you  know  this?'  And  Tancred,  opening  a  vol- 
ume which  he  had  never  seen,  and  then  turning  to 
its  titlepage,  found  it  was  'The  Revelations  of  Chaos,' 
a  startling  work  just  published,  and  of  which  a 
rumour  had  reached  him. 

'No,'  he  replied;  '1  have  not  seen  it.' 

'I  will  lend  it  you  if  you  like:  it  is  one  of  those 
books  one  must  read.  It  explains  everything,  and  is 
written  in  a  very  agreeable  style.' 

'It  explains  everything!'  said  Tancred;  'it  must, 
indeed,  be  a  very  remarkable  book!' 

'I  think  it  will  just  suit  you,'  said  Lady  Constance. 
'Do  you  know,  I  thought  so  several  times  while  I 
was  reading  it.' 

'To  judge  from  the  title,  the  subject  is  rather  ob- 
scure,' said  Tancred. 

'No  longer  so,'  said  Lady  Constance.  'It  is  treated 
scientifically;  everything  is  explained  by  geology  and 
astronomy,  and  in  that  way.  It  shows  you  exactly 
how  a  star  is  formed;  nothing  can  be  so  pretty!  A 
cluster  of  vapour,  the  cream  of  the  Milky  Way,  a  sort 
of  celestial  cheese,  churned  into  light,  you  must  read 
it,  'tis  charming.' 

'Nobody  ever  saw  a  star  formed,'  said  Tancred. 

'Perhaps  not.  You  must  read  the  "Revelations;" 
it  is  all  explained.  But  what  is  most  interesting,  is 
the  way  in  which  man  has  been  developed.  You  know, 
all  is  development.  The  principle  is  perpetually  go- 
ing on.  First,  there  was  nothing,  then  there  was 
something;  then,  I  forget  the  next,  I  think  there  were 


142  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

shells,  then  fishes;  then  we  came,  let  me  see,  did  we 
come  next?  Never  mind  that;  we  came  at  last.  And 
the  next  change  there  will  be  something  very  su- 
perior to  us,  something  with  wings.  Ah!  that's  it: 
we  were  fishes,  and  I  believe  we  shall  be  crows. 
But  you  must  read  it.' 

'  I  do  not  believe  I  ever  was  a  fish,'  said  Tancred. 

'Oh!  but  it  is  all  proved;  you  must  not  argue  on 
my  rapid  sketch;  read  the  book.  It  is  impossible  to 
contradict  anything  in  it.  You  understand,  it  is  all 
science;  it  is  not  like  those  books  in  which  one  says 
one  thing  and  another  the  contrary,  and  both  may  be 
wrong.  Everything  is  proved:  by  geology,  you  know. 
You  see  exactly  how  everything  is  made;  how  many 
worlds  there  have  been;  how  long  they  lasted;  what 
went  before,  what  comes  next.  We  are  a  link  in  the 
chain,  as  inferior  animals  were  that  preceded  us:  we 
in  turn  shall  be  inferior;  all  that  will  remain  of  us 
will  be  some  relics  in  a  new  red  sandstone.  This  is 
development.     We  had  fins;  we  may  have  wings.' 

Tancred  grew  silent  and  thoughtful;  Lady  Bran- 
cepeth  moved,  and  he  rose  at  the  same  time.  Lady 
Charmouth  looked  as  if  it  were  by  no  means  neces- 
sary for  him  to  depart,  but  he  bowed  very  low,  and 
then  bade  farewell  to  Lady  Constance,  who  said,  'We 
shall  meet  to-night.' 

'I  was  a  fish,  and  I  shall  be  a  crow,'  said  Tan- 
cred to  himself,  when  the  hall  door  closed  on  him. 
'What  a  spiritual  mistress!  And  yesterday,  for  a  mo- 
ment, I  almost  dreamed  of  kneeling  with  her  at  the 
Holy  Sepulchre!  I  must  get  out  of  this  city  as  quickly 
as  possible;  I  cannot  cope  with  its  corruption.  The 
acquaintance,  however,  has  been  of  use  to  me,  for  I 
think   I    have   got   a   yacht    by   it.     I   believe   it   was 


TANCRED  143 

providential,  and  a  trial.  I  will  go  home  and  write 
instantly  to  Fitz-Heron,  and  accept  his  offer.  One 
hundred  and  eighty  tons:  it  will  do;  it  must.' 

At  this  moment  he  met  Lord  Eskdale,  who  had 
observed  Tancred  from  the  end  of  Grosvenor  Square, 
on  the  steps  of  Lord  Charmouth's  door.  This  cir- 
cumstance ill  prepared  Lord  Eskdale  for  Tancred's 
salutation. 

'  My  dear  lord,  you  are  just  the  person  I  wanted 
to  meet.  You  promised  to  recommend  me  a  servant 
who  had  travelled  in  the  East.' 

'  Well,  are  you  in  a  hurry  ? '  said  Lord  Eskdale, 
gaining  time,  and  pumping. 

'I  should  like  to  get  off  as  soon  as  practicable.' 

'Humph!'  said  Lord  Eskdale.  'Have  you  got  a 
yacht?' 

'I  have.' 

'Oh!  So  you  want  a  servant?'  he  added,  after  a 
moment's  pause. 

'I  mentioned  that,  because  you  were  so  kind  as  to 
say  you  could  help  me  in  that  respect.' 

'Ah!  I  did,'  said  Lord  Eskdale,  thoughtfully. 

'But  I  want  a  great  many  things,'  continued  Tan- 
cred. 'I  must  make  arrangements  about  money;  I 
suppose  1  must  get  some  letters;  in  fact,  I  want  gen- 
erally your  advice.' 

'What  are  you  going  to  do  about  the  colonel  and 
the  rest?' 

'I  have  promised  my  father  to  take  them,'  said 
Tancred,  '  though  1  feel  they  will  only  embarrass 
me.  They  have  engaged  to  be  ready  at  a  week's 
notice;  1  shall  write  to  them  immediately,  if  they 
do    not   fulfil   their   engagement,   I    am    absolved   from 


144  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'So  you  have  got  a  yacht,  eh?'  said  Lord  Eskdale. 
'I  suppose  you  have  bought  the  Basilisk?' 

'Exactly.' 

'She  wants  a  good  deal  doing  to  her.' 

'Something,  but  chiefly  for  show,  which  I  do  not 
care  about;  but  I  mean  to  get  away,  and  refit,  if 
necessary,  at  Gibraltar.     I  must  go.' 

'Well,  if  you  must  go,'  said  his  lordship,  and  then 
he  added,  'and  in  such  a  hurry;  let  me  see.  You 
want  a  firstrate  managing  man,  used  to  the  East,  and 
letters,  and  money,  and  advice.  Hem!  You  don't 
know  Sidonia?' 

'Not  at  all.' 

'  He  is  the  man  to  get  hold  of,  but  that  is  so  diffi- 
cult now.  He  never  goes  anywhere.  Let  me  see, 
this  is  Monday;  to-morrow  is  post-day,  and  I  dine 
with  him  alone  in  the  City.  Well,  you  shall  hear 
from  me  on  Wednesday  morning  early,  about  every- 
thing; but  1  would  not  write  to  the  colonel  and  his 
friends  just  yet.' 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

Tancred  Rescues  a  Lady  in 
Distress. 

HAT  is  most  striking  in  London  is 
its  vastness.  It  is  the  illimitable 
feeling  that  gives  it  a  special  char- 
acter. London  is  not  grand.  It 
possesses  only  one  of  the  qualifica- 
tions of  a  grand  city,  size;  but  it 
wants  the  equally  important  one,  beauty.  It  is  the  union 
of  these  two  qualities  that  produced  the  grand  cities, 
the  Romes,  the  Babylons,  the  hundred  portals  of  the 
Pharaohs;  multitudes  and  magnificence;  the  millions 
influenced  by  art.  Grand  cities  are  unknown  since 
the  beautiful  has  ceased  to  be  the  principle  of  inven- 
tion. Paris,  of  modern  capitals,  has  aspired  to  this 
character;  but  if  Paris  be  a  beautiful  city,  it  certainly 
is  not  a  grand  one;  its  population  is  too  limited,  and, 
from  the  nature  of  their  dwellings,  they  cover  a  com- 
paratively small  space.  Constantinople  is  picturesque; 
nature  has  furnished  a  sublime  site,  but  it  has  little 
architectural  splendour,  and  you  reach  the  environs 
with  a  fatal  facility.  London  overpowers  us  with  its 
vastness. 

Place  a  Forum  or  an   Acropolis   in   its  centre,  and 
the  effect  of  the   metropolitan   mass,  which    now  has 

('45) 


146  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

neither  head  nor  heart,  instead  of  being  stupefying, 
would  be  ennobling.  Nothing  more  completely  repre- 
sents a  nation  than  a  public  building.  A  member  of 
Parliament  only  represents,  at  the  most,  the  united 
constituencies:  but  the  Palace  of  the  Sovereign,  a 
National  Gallery,  or  a  Museum  baptised  with  the 
name  of  the  country,  these  are  monuments  to  which 
all  should  be  able  to  look  up  with  pride,  and  which 
should  exercise  an  elevating  influence  upon  the  spirit 
of  the  humblest.  What  is  their  influence  in  London? 
Let  us  not  criticise  what  all  condemn.  But  how 
remedy  the  evil?  What  is  wanted  in  architecture,  as 
in  so  many  things,  is  a  man.  Shall  we  find  a  refuge 
in  a  Committee  of  Taste  ?  Escape  from  the  mediocrity 
of  one  to  the  mediocrity  of  many  ?  We  only  multiply 
our  feebleness,  and  aggravate  our  deficiencies.  But 
one  suggestion  might  be  made.  No  profession  in 
England  has  done  its  duty  until  it  has  furnished  its 
victim.  The  pure  administration  of  justice  dates  from 
the  deposition  of  Macclesfield.  Even  our  boasted  navy 
never  achieved  a  great  victory  until  we  shot  an  ad- 
miral. Suppose  an  architect  were  hanged?  Terror 
has  its  inspiration  as  well  as  competition. 

Though  London  is  vast,  it  is  very  monotonous. 
All  those  new  districts  that  have  sprung  up  within 
the  last  half-century,  the  creatures  of  our  commercial 
and  colonial  wealth,  it  is  impossible  to  conceive  any- 
thing more  tame,  more  insipid,  more  uniform.  Pan- 
eras  is  like  Mary-le-bone,  Mary-le-bone  is  like 
Paddington;  all  the  streets  resemble  each  other,  you 
must  read  the  names  of  the  squares  before  you  ven- 
ture to  knock  at  a  door.  This  amount  of  building 
capital  ought  to  have  produced  a  great  city.  What 
an    opportunity   for    architecture    suddenly   summoned 


TANCRED  147 

to  furnish  habitations  for  a  population  equal  to  that 
of  the  city  of  Bruxelles,  and  a  population,  too,  of 
great  wealth.  Mary-le-bone  alone  ought  to  have  pro- 
duced a  revolution  in  our  domestic  architecture.  It 
did  nothing.  It  was  built  by  Act  of  Parliament.  Par- 
liament prescribed  even  a  facade.  It  is  Parliament  to 
whom  we  are  indebted  for  your  Gloucester  Places, 
and  Baker  Streets,  and  Harley  Streets,  and  Wimpole 
Streets,  and  all  those  flat,  dull,  spiritless  streets,  re- 
sembling each  other  like  a  large  family  of  plain  chil- 
dren, with  Portland  Place  and  Portman  Square  for 
their  respectable  parents.  The  influence  of  our  Parlia- 
mentary Government  upon  the  fine  arts  is  a  subject 
worth  pursuing.  The  power  that  produced  Baker 
Street  as  a  model  for  street  architecture  in  its  cele- 
brated Building  Act,  is  the  power  that  prevented 
Whitehall  from  being  completed,  and  which  sold  to 
foreigners  all  the  pictures  which  the  King  of  England 
had  collected  to  civilise  his  people. 

In  our  own  days  we  have  witnessed  the  rapid 
creation  of  a  new  metropolitan  quarter,  built  solely 
for  the  aristocracy  by  an  aristocrat.  The  Belgrave  dis- 
trict is  as  monotonous  as  Mary-le-bone;  and  is  so 
contrived  as  to  be  at  the  same  time  insipid  and  tawdry. 

Where  London  becomes  more  interesting  is  Char- 
ing Cross.  Looking  to  Northumberland  House,  and 
turning  your  back  upon  Trafalgar  Square,  the  Strand 
is  perhaps  the  finest  street  in  Europe,  blending  the 
architecture  of  many  periods;  and  its  river  ways  are 
a  peculiar  feature  and  rich  with  associations.  Fleet 
Street,  with  its  Temple,  is  not  unworthy  of  being 
contiguous  to  the  Strand.  The  fire  of  London  has 
deprived  us  of  the  delight  of  a  real  old  quarter  of  the 
city;    but   some   bits  remain,  and  everywhere  there  is 


148  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

a  stirring  multitude,  and  a  great  crush  and  crash  of 
carts  and  wains.  The  Inns  of  Court,  and  the  quarters 
in  the  vicinity  of  the  port,  Thames  Street,  Tower 
Hill,  Billingsgate,  Wapping,  Rotherhithe,  are  the  best 
parts  of  London;  they  are  full  of  character:  the  build- 
ings bear  a  nearer  relation  to  what  the  people  are 
doing  than  in  the  more  polished  quarters. 

The  old  merchants  of  the  times  of  the  first  Georges 
were  a  fine  race.  They  knew  their  position,  and 
built  up  to  it.  While  the  territorial  aristocracy,  pull- 
ing down  their  family  hotels,  were  raising  vulgar 
streets  and  squares  upon  their  site,  and  occupying 
themselves  one  of  the  new  tenements,  the  old  mer- 
chants filled  the  straggling  lanes,  which  connected 
the  Royal  Exchange  with  the  port  of  London,  with 
mansions  which,  if  not  exactly  equal  to  the  palaces 
of  stately  Venice,  might  at  least  vie  with  many  of  the 
hotels  of  old  Paris.  Some  of  these,  though  the  great 
majority  have  been  broken  up  into  chambers  and 
counting-houses,  still  remain  intact. 

In  a  long,  dark,  narrow,  crooked  street,  which  is 
still  called  a  lane,  and  which  runs  from  the  south 
side  of  the  street  of  the  Lombards  towards  the  river, 
there  is  one  of  these  old  houses  of  a  century  past, 
and  which,  both  in  its  original  design  and  present 
condition,  is  a  noble  specimen  of  its  order.  A  pair 
of  massy  iron  gates,  of  elaborate  workmanship,  sepa- 
rate the  street  from  its  spacious  and  airy  court-yard, 
which  is  formed  on  either  side  by  a  wing  of  the 
mansion,  itself  a  building  of  deep  red  brick,  with  a 
pediment,  and  pilasters,  and  copings  of  stone.  A 
flight  of  steps  leads  to  the  lofty  and  central  doorway; 
in  the  middle  of  the  court  there  is  a  garden  plot,  in- 
closing a  fountain,  and  a  fine  plane  tree. 


TANCRED  149 

The  stillness,  doubly  effective  after  the  tumult  just 
quitted,  the  lulling  voice  of  the  water,  the  soothing 
aspect  of  the  quivering  foliage,  the  noble  building, 
and  the  cool  and  capacious  quadrangle,  the  aspect 
even  of  those  who  enter,  and  frequently  enter,  the 
precinct,  and  who  are  generally  young  men,  gliding 
in  and  out,  earnest  and  full  of  thought,  all  contribute 
to  give  to  this  locality  something  of  the  classic  repose 
of  a  college,  instead  of  a  place  agitated  with  the  most 
urgent  interests  of  the  current  hour;  a  place  that  deals 
with  the  fortunes  of  kings  and  empires,  and  regulates 
the  most  important  affairs  of  nations,  for  it  is  the 
counting-house  in  the  greatest  of  modern  cities  of  the 
most  celebrated  of  modern  financiers. 

It  was  the  visit  of  Tancred  to  the  City,  on  the 
Wednesday  morning  after  he  had  met  Lord  Eskdale, 
that  occasions  me  to  touch  on  some  of  the  character- 
istics of  our  capital.  It  was  the  first  time  that  Tan- 
cred had  ever  been  in  the  City  proper,  and  it  greatly 
interested  him.  His  visit  was  prompted  by  receiving, 
early  on  Wednesday  morning,  the  following  letter: 

'Dear  Tancred:  I  saw  Sidonia  yesterday,  and 
spoke  to  him  of  what  you  want.  He  is  much  oc- 
cupied just  now,  as  his  uncle,  who  attended  to  affairs 
here,  is  dead,  and,  until  he  can  import  another  uncle 
or  cousin,  he  must  steer  the  ship,  as  times  are  critical. 
But  he  bade  me  say  you  might  call  upon  him  in  the 
City  to-day,  at  two  o'clock.  He  lives  in  Sequin  Court, 
near  the  Bank.  You  will  have  no  difficulty  in  finding 
it.  I  recommend  you  to  go,  as  he  is  the  sort  of  man 
who  will  really  understand  what  you  mean,  which 
neither  your  father  nor  myself  do  exactly;  and,  be- 
sides, he  is  a  person  to  know. 


I50  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'\  enclose  a  line  which  you  will  send  in,  that  there 
may  be  no  mistake.  I  should  tell  you,  as  you  are 
very  fresh,  that  he  is  of  the  Hebrew  race;  so  don't 
go  on  too  much  about  the  Holy  Sepulchre. 

'Yours  faithfully, 

'  ESKDALE. 

'Spring  Gardens,  Wednesday  morning.' 

It  is  just  where  the  street  is  most  crowded,  where 
it  narrows,  and  losing  the  name  of  Cheapside,  takes 
that  of  the  Poultry,  that  the  last  of  a  series  of  stop- 
pages occurred;  a  stoppage  which,  at  the  end  of  ten 
minutes,  lost  its  inert  character  of  mere  obstruction, 
and  developed  into  the  livelier  qualities  of  the  row. 
There  were  oaths,  contradictions,  menaces:  'No,  you 
sha'n't;  Yes,  1  will;  No,  I  didn't;  Yes,  you  did;  No, 
you  haven't;  Yes,  I  have;'  the  lashing  of  a  whip,  the 
interference  of  a  policeman,  a  crash,  a  scream.  Tan- 
cred  looked  out  of  the  window  of  his  brougham.  He 
saw  a  chariot  in  distress,  a  chariot  such  as  would  have 
become  an  Ondine  by  the  waters  of  the  Serpentine, 
and  the  very  last  sort  of  equipage  that  you  could  ex- 
pect to  see  smashed  in  the  Poultry.  It  was  really 
breaking  a  butterfly  upon  a  wheel  to  crush  its  deli- 
cate springs,  and  crack  its  dark  brown  panels,  soil  its 
dainty  hammer-cloth,  and  endanger  the  lives  of  its 
young  coachman  in  a  flaxen  wig,  and  its  two  tall 
footmen  in  short  coats,  worthy  of  Cinderella. 

The  scream,  too,  came  from  a  fair  owner,  who 
was  surrounded  by  clamorous  carmen  and  city  mar- 
shals, and  who,  in  an  unknown  land,  was  afraid  she 
might  be  put  in  a  city  compter,  because  the  people 
in  the  city  had  destroyed  her  beautiful  chariot.  Tan- 
cred  let  himself  out  of  his    brougham,  and    not   with- 


d 


TANCRED  151 

out  difficulty  contrived,  tiirough  the  narrow  and 
crowded  passage  formed  by  the  two  lines,  to  reach 
the  chariot,  which  was  coming  the  contrary  way  to 
him.  Some  ruthless  officials  were  persuading  a  beau- 
tiful woman  to  leave  her  carriage,  the  wheel  of  which 
was  broken.  '  But  where  am  1  to  go.?' she  exclaimed. 
'  1  cannot  walk.  1  will  not  leave  my  carriage  until 
you  bring  me  some  conveyance.  You  ought  to  pun- 
ish these  people,  who  have  quite  ruined    my  chariot.' 

'They  say  it  was  your  coachman's  fault;  we  have 
nothing  to  do  with  that;  besides,  you  know  who 
they  are.  Their  employers'  name  is  on  the  cart. 
Brown,  Bugsby,  and  Co.,  Limehouse.  You  can  have 
your  redress  against  Brown,  Bugsby,  and  Co.,  Lime- 
house,  if  your  coachman  is  not  in  fault;  but  you  can- 
not stop  up  the  way,  and  you  had  better  get  out,  and 
let  the  carriage  be  removed  to  the  Steel-yard.' 

'What  am  1  to  do?'  exclaimed  the  lady  with  a 
tearful  eye  and  agitated  face. 

'I  have  a  carriage  at  hand,'  said  Tancred,  who  at 
this  moment  reached  her,  'and  it  is  quite  at  your 
service.' 

The  lady  cast  her  beautiful  eyes,  with  an  expres- 
sion of  astonishment  she  could  not  conceal,  at  the 
distinguished  youth  who  thus  suddenly  appeared  in 
the  midst  of  insolent  carmen,  brutal  policemen,  and  all 
the  cynical  amateurs  of  a  mob.  Public  opinion  in  the 
Poultry  was  against  her;  her  coachman's  wig  had  ex- 
cited derision;  the  footmen  had  given  themselves  airs; 
there  was  a  strong  feeling  against  the  shortcoats.  As 
for  the  lady,  though  at  first  awed  by  her  beauty  and 
magnificence,  they  rebelled  against  the  authority  of 
her  manner.  Besides,  she  was  not  alone.  There  was 
a   gentleman    with    her,   who    wore    moustaches,  and 

15     B.  D.-23 


152  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

had  taken  a  part  in  the  proceedings  at  first,  by  address- 
ing the  carmen  in  French,  This  was  too  much,  and 
the  mob  declared  he  was  Don  Carlos. 

'You  are  too  good,'  said  the  lady,  with  a  sweet 
expression. 

Tancred  opened  the  door  of  the  chariot,  the  po- 
licemen pulled  down  the  steps,  the  servants  were 
told  to  do  the  best  they  could  with  the  wrecked 
equipage;  in  a  second  the  lady  and  her  companion 
were  in  Tancred's  brougham,  who,  desiring  his  serv- 
ants to  obey  all  their  orders,  disappeared,  for  the 
stoppage  at  this  moment  began  to  move,  and  there 
was  no  time  for  bandying  compliments. 

He  had  gained  the  pavement,  and  had  made  his 
way  as  far  as  the  Mansion  House,  when,  finding  a 
group  of  public  buildings,  he  thought  it  prudent  to 
inquire  which  was  the  Bank. 

'That  is  the  Bank,'  said  a  good-natured  man,  in  a 
bustle,  but  taken  by  Tancred's  unusual  appearance. 
'What  do  you  want?     1  am  going  there.' 

M  do  not  want  exactly  the  Bank,'  replied  Tancred, 
'but  a  place  somewhere  near  it.  Do  you  happen  to 
know,  sir,  a  place  called  Sequin  Court?' 

M  should  think  I  did,'  said  the  man,  smiling,  'So 
you  are  going  to  Sidonia's?' 


FROM    AN    OKIC.INAI.    DRAWING    BY    HERMAN    ROUNTREE 


Taiiiii'il  opened  the  door  of  the  ,-hanot. 

iSee  page  iS2.> 


I 


■'h^' 


hr;ur  uyh/  rifJ^,  Av  /^  Wa^Urj 


CHAPTER    XVII. 


The  Wizard  of  Fortune. 

ANCRED    entered    Sequin    Court;    a 
chariot  witii  a  foreign  coronet  was 
at  tile  foot  of  tile  great  steps  wliicli 
lie    ascended.      He  was    received 
by  a  fat    liall    porter,    wlio  would 
not  have  disgraced   his  father's  es- 
tablishment, and  who,  rising  with  lazy  insolence  from 
his  hooded  chair,  when  he  observed  that  Tancred  did 
not  advance,  asked   the  new  comer  what  he  wanted. 
'1  want  Monsieur  de  Sidonia.' 
'Can't  see  him  now;  he  is  engaged.' 
M  have  a  note  for  him.' 

'Very  well,  give  it  me;  it  will  be  sent  in.  You 
can  sit  here.'  And  the  porter  opened  the  door  of  a 
waiting-room,  which  Tancred  declined  to  enter.  '  I 
will  wait  here,  thank  you,'  said  Tancred,  and  he 
looked  round  at  the  old  oak  hall,  on  the  walls  of 
which  were  hung  several  portraits,  and  from  which 
ascended  one  of  those  noble  staircases  never  found  in 
a  modern  London  mansion.  At  the  end  of  the  hall, 
on  a  slab  of  porphyry,  was  a  marble  bust,  with  this 
inscription  on  it,  'Fundator.'  It  was  the  first  Si- 
donia, by  Chantrey. 

(>53) 


154  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'I  will  wait  here,  thank  you,'  said  Tancred,  look- 
ing round;  and  then,  with  some  hesitation,  he  added, 
'I  have  an  appointment  here  at  two  o'clock.' 

As  he  spoke,  that  hour  sounded  from  the  belfry  of 
an  old  city  church  that  was  at  hand,  and  then  was 
taken  up  by  the  chimes  of  a  large  German  clock  in 
the  hall. 

'It  may  be,'  said  the  porter,  'but  I  can't  disturb 
master  now;  the  Spanish  ambassador  is  with  him, 
and  others  are  waiting.  When  he  is  gone,  a  clerk 
will  take  in  your  letter  with  some  others  that  are 
here.' 

At  this  moment,  and  while  Tancred  remained  in 
the  hall,  various  persons  entered,  and,  without  no- 
ticing the  porter,  pursued  their  way  across  the  apart- 
ment. 

'And  where  are  those  persons  going?'  inquired 
Tancred. 

The  porter  looked  at  the  enquirer  with  a  blended 
gaze  of  curiosity  and  contempt,  and  then  negligently 
answered  him  without  looking  in  Tancred's  face,  and 
while  he  was  brushing  up  the  hearth,  '  Some  are  go- 
ing to  the  counting-house,  and  some  are  going  to 
the  Bank,  I  should  think.' 

'I  wonder  if  our  hall  porter  is  such  an  infernal 
bully  as  Monsieur  de  Sidonia's!'  thought  Tancred. 

There  was  a  stir,  '  The  ambassador  is  coming 
out,'  said  the  hall  porter;  'you  must  not  stand  in 
the  way.' 

The  well-trained  ear  of  this  guardian  of  the  gate 
was  conversant  with  every  combination  of  sound 
which  the  apartments  of  Sequin  Court  could  produce. 
Close  as  the  doors  might  be  shut,  you  could  not  rise 
from  your  chair  without    his  being   aware    of  it;    and 


TANCRED 


^SS 


in  the  present  instance  he  was  correct.  A  door  at 
the  end  of  the  hail  opened,  and  the  Spanish  minister 
came  forth. 

'Stand  aside,'  said  the  hall  porter  to  Tancred; 
and,  summoning  the  servants  without,  he  ushered  his 
excellency  with  some  reverence  to  his  carriage. 

'Now  your  letter  will  go  in  with  the  others,'  he 
said  to  Tancred,  whom  for  a  few  moments  he  left 
alone,  and  then  returned,  taking  no  notice  of  our 
young  friend,  but,  depositing  his  bulky  form  in  his 
hooded  chair,  he  resumed  the  city  article  of  the 
Times. 

The  letter  ran  thus: 

'Dear  Sidonia:  This  will  be  given  you  by  my 
cousin  Montacute,  of  whom  1  spoke  to  you  yester- 
day. He  wants  to  go  to  Jerusalem,  which  very 
much  perplexes  his  family,  for  he  is  an  only  child. 
1  don't  suppose  the  danger  is  what  they  imagine. 
But  still  there  is  nothing  like  experience,  and  there 
is  no  one  who  knows  so  much  of  these  things  as 
yourself.  I  have  promised  his  father  and  mother, 
very  innocent  people,  whom  of  all  my  relatives,  I 
most  affect,  to  do  what  I  can  for  him.  If,  therefore, 
you  can  aid  Montacute,  you  will  really  serve  me. 
He  seems  to  have  character,  though  I  can't  well 
make  him  out.  I  fear  I  indulged  in  the  hock  yester- 
day, for  I  feel  a  twinge.     Yours  faithfully, 

'  ESKDALE. 

'Wednesday  morning.' 

The  hall  clock  had  commenced  the  quarter  chimes, 
when  a  young  man,  fair  and  intelligent,  and  wearing 
spectacles,  came  into  the   hall,  and,  opening  the  door 


156  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

of  the  waiting-room,  looked  as  if  he  expected  to 
find  some  one  there;  then,  turning  to  the  porter,  he 
said,  '  Where  is  Lord  Montacute  ? ' 

The  porter  rose  from  his  hooded  chair,  and  put 
down  the  newspaper,  but  Tancred  had  advanced 
when  he  heard  his  name,  and  bowed,  and  followed 
the  young  man  in  spectacles,  who  invited  Tancred  to 
accompany  him. 

Tancred  was  ushered  into  a  spacious  and  rather 
long  apartment,  panelled  with  old  oak  up  to  the 
white  coved  ceiling,  which  was  richly  ornamented. 
Four  windows  looked  upon  the  fountain  and  the 
plane  tree.  A  portrait  by  Lawrence,  evidently  of  the 
same  individual  who  had  furnished  the  model  to 
Chantrey,  was  over  the  high,  old-fashioned,  but  very 
handsome  marble  mantel-piece.  A  Turkey  carpet, 
curtains  of  crimson  damask,  some  large  tables  cov- 
ered with  papers,  several  easy  chairs,  against  the 
walls  some  iron  cabinets,  these  were  the  furniture  of 
the  room,  at  one  corner  of  which  was  a  glass  door, 
which  led  to  a  vista  of  apartments  fitted  up  as  count- 
ing-houses, filled  with  clerks,  and  which,  if  expe- 
dient, might  be  covered  by  a  baize  screen,  which 
was  now  unclosed. 

A  gentleman  writing  at  a  table  rose  as  he  came 
in,  and  extending  his  hand  said,  as  he  pointed  to  a 
seat,  '  I  am  afraid  I  have  made  you  come  out  at  an 
unusual  hour.' 

The  young  man  in  spectacles  in  the  meanwhile  re- 
tired; Tancred  had  bowed  and  murmured  his  compli- 
ments: and  his  host,  drawing  his  chair  a  little  from 
the  table,  continued:  'Lord  Eskdale  tells  me  that  you 
have  some  thoughts  of  going  to  Jerusalem.' 

M  have  for  some  time  had  that  intention.' 


TANCRED  157 

'It  is  a  pity  that  you  did  not  set  out  earlier  in 
the  year,  and  then  you  might  have  been  there  during 
the  Easter  pilgrimage.     It  is  a  fine  sight.' 

'It  is  a  pity,'  said  Tancred;  'but  to  reach  Jeru- 
salem is  with  me  an  object  of  so  much  moment,  that 
I  shall  be  content  to  find  myself  there  at  any  time, 
and  under  any  circumstances.' 

'It  is  no  longer  difficult  to  reach  Jerusalem;  the 
real  difficulty  is  the  one  experienced  by  the  crusaders, 
to  know  what  to  do  when  you  have  arrived  there.' 

'It  is  the  land  of  inspiration,'  said  Tancred,  slightly 
blushing;  'and  when  I  am  there,  I  would  humbly 
pray  that  my  course  may  be  indicated  to  me.' 

'And  you  think  that  no  prayers,  however  humble, 
would  obtain  for  you  that  indication  before  your  de- 
parture ? ' 

'This  is  not  the  land  of  inspiration,'  replied  Tan- 
cred, timidly. 

'But  you  have  your  Church,'  said  Sidonia. 

'  Which  I  hold  of  divine  institution,  and  which 
should  be  under  the  immediate  influence  of  the  Holy 
Spirit,'  said  Tancred,  dropping  his  eyes,  and  colouring 
still  more  as  he  found  himself  already  trespassing  on 
that  delicate  province  of  theology  which  always  fas- 
cinated him,  but  which  it  had  been  intimated  to 
him  by  Lord  Eskdale  that  he  should  avoid. 

'Is  it  wanting  to  you,  then,  in  this  conjuncture?' 
inquired  his  companion. 

'  I  find  its  opinions  conflicting,  its  decrees  con- 
tradictory, its  conduct  inconsistent,'  replied  Tancred. 
'  I  have  conferred  with  one  who  is  esteemed  its  most 
eminent  prelate,  and  I  have  left  him  with  a  conviction 
of  what  I  had  for  some  time  suspected,  that  inspira- 
tion is  not  only  a  divine  but  a  local  quality.' 


158  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'You  and  I  have  some  reason  to  believe  so,'  said 
Sidonia.  '  I  believe  that  God  spoke  to  Moses  on 
Mount  Horeb,  and  you  believe  that  he  was  crucified, 
in  the  person  of  Jesus,  on  Mount  Calvary.  Both 
were,  at  least  carnally,  children  of  Israel:  they  spoke 
Hebrew  to  the  Hebrews.  The  prophets  were  only 
Hebrews;  the  apostles  were  only  Hebrews.  The 
churches  of  Asia,  which  have  vanished,  were  founded 
by  a  native  Hebrew;  and  the  church  of  Rome,  which 
says  it  shall  last  for  ever,  and  which  converted  this 
island  to  the  faith  of  Moses  and  of  Christ,  vanquish- 
ing the  Druids,  Jupiter  Olympius,  and  Woden,  who 
had  successively  invaded  it,  was  also  founded  by  a 
native  Hebrew.  Therefore,  I  say,  your  suspicion  or 
your  conviction  is,  at  least,  not  a  fantastic  one.' 

Tancred  listened  to  Sidonia  as  he  spoke  with  great 
interest,  and  with  an  earnest  and  now  quite  unem- 
barrassed manner.  The  height  of  the  argument  had 
immediately  surmounted  all  his  social  reserve.  His 
intelligence  responded  to  the  great  theme  that  had  so 
long  occupied  his  musing  hours;  and  the  unexpected 
character  of  a  conversation  which,  as  he  had  sup- 
posed, would  have  mainly  treated  of  letters  of  credit, 
the  more  excited  him. 

'Then,'  said  Tancred,  with  animation,  'seeing 
how  things  are,  that  I  am  born  in  an  age  and  in  a 
country  divided  between  infidelity  on  one  side  and 
an  anarchy  of  creeds  on  the  other;  with  none  compe- 
tent to  guide  me,  yet  feeling  that  I  must  believe,  for  I 
hold  that  duty  cannot  exist  without  faith;  is  it  so  wild 
as  some  would  think  it,  1  would  say  is  it  unreasonable, 
that  1  should  wish  to  do  that  which,  six  centuries  ago, 
was  done  by  my  ancestor  whose  name  I  bear,  and 
that  1  should  cross  the  seas,  and ?'    He  hesitated. 


TANCRED  159 

'And  visit  the  Holy  Sepulchre,'  said  Sidonia. 

'And  visit  the  Holy  Sepulchre,'  said  Tancred, 
solemnly;  'for  that,  I  confess,  is  my  sovereign  thought.' 

'  Well,  the  crusades  were  of  vast  advantage  to 
Europe,'  said  Sidonia,  'and  renovated  the  spiritual 
hold  which  Asia  has  always  had  upon  the  North.  It 
seems  to  wane  at  present,  but  it  is  only  the  decrease 
that  precedes  the  new  development.' 

'It  must  be  so,'  said  Tancred;  'for  who  can  be- 
lieve that  a  country  once  sanctified  by  the  Divine 
Presence  can  ever  be  as  other  lands?  Some  celestial 
quality,  distinguishing  it  from  all  other  climes,  must 
for  ever  linger  about  it.  I  would  ask  those  moun- 
tains, that  were  reached  by  angels,  why  they  no 
longer  receive  heavenly  visitants.  I  would  appeal  to 
that  Comforter  promised  to  man,  on  the  sacred  spot 
on  which  the  assurance  of  solace  was  made.  I  re- 
quire a  Comforter.  I  have  appealed  to  the  holy  in- 
fluence in  vain  in  England.  It  has  not  visited  me;  I 
know  none  here  on  whom  it  has  descended.  I  am 
induced,  therefore,  to  believe  that  it  is  part  of  the  di- 
vine scheme  that  its  influence  should  be  local;  that  it 
should  be  approached  with  reverence,  not  thought- 
lessly and  hurriedly,  but  with  such  difficulties  and 
such  an  interval  of  time  as  a  pilgrimage  to  a  spot 
sanctified  can  alone  secure.' 

Sidonia  listened  to  Tancred  with  deep  attention. 
Lord  Montacute  was  seated  opposite  the  windows,  so 
that  there  was  a  full  light  upon  the  play  of  the  coun- 
tenance, the  expression  of  which  Sidonia  watched, 
while  his  keen  and  far-reaching  vision  traced  at  the 
same  time  the  formation  and  development  of  the  head 
of  his  visitor.  He  recognised  in  this  youth  not  a  vain 
and  vague  visionary,  but  a  being  in  whom  the  facul- 


i6o  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

ties  of  reason  and  imagination  were  both  of  the  high- 
est class,  and  both  equally  developed.  He  observed 
that  he  was  of  a  nature  passionately  affectionate, 
and  that  he  was  of  a  singular  audacity.  He  perceived 
that  though,  at  this  moment,  Tancred  was  as  igno- 
rant of  the  world  as  a  young  monk,  he  possessed  all 
the  latent  qualities  which  in  future  would  qualify  him 
to  control  society.  When  Tancred  had  finished  speak- 
ing, there  was  a  pause  of  a  few  seconds,  during 
which  Sidonia  seemed  lost  in  thought;  then,  looking  up, 
he  said,  '  It  appears  to  me.  Lord  Montacute,  that  what 
you  want  is  to  penetrate  the  great  Asian  mystery.' 

'You  have  touched  my  inmost  thought,'  said  Tan- 
cred, eagerly. 

At  this  moment  there  entered  the  room,  from  the 
glass  door,  the  same  young  man  who  had  ushered 
Tancred  into  the  apartment.  He  brought  a  letter  to 
Sidonia.  Lord  Montacute  felt  confused;  his  shyness 
returned  to  him;  he  deplored  the  unfortunate  inter- 
ruption, but  he  felt  he  was  in  the  way.  He  rose, 
and  began  to  say  good-morning,  when  Sidonia,  with- 
out taking  his  eyes  off  the  letter,  saw  him,  and  wav- 
ing his  hand,  stopped  him,  saying,  'I  settled  with 
Lord  Eskdale  that  you  were  not  to  go  away  if  any- 
thing occurred  which  required  my  momentary  atten- 
tion. So  pray  sit  down,  unless  you  have  engagements.' 
And  Tancred  again  seated  himself. 

'Write,'  continued  Sidonia  to  the  clerk,  'that  my 
letters  are  twelve  hours  later  than  the  despatches,  and 
that  the  City  continued  quite  tranquil.  Let  the  ex- 
tract from  the  Berlin  letter  be  left  at  the  same  time 
at  the  Treasury.     The  last  bulletin?' 

'Consols  drooping  at  half-past  two;  all  the  foreign 
funds  lower;  shares  very  active.' 


TANCRED  i6i 

They  were  once  more  alone. 

'When  do  you  propose  going?' 

*  I  hope  in  a  week.' 

'Alone.?' 

*I  fear  I  shall  have  many  attendants.* 

'That  is  a  pity.  Well,  when  you  arrive  at  Jeru- 
salem, you  will  naturally  go  to  the  convent  of  Terra 
Santa.  You  will  make  there  the  acquaintance  of  the 
Spanish  prior,  Alonzo  Lara.  He  calls  me  cousin;  he 
is  a  Nuevo  of  the  fourteenth  century.  Very  orthodox; 
but  the  love  of  the  old  land  and  the  old  language 
have  come  out  in  him,  as  they  will,  though  his  blood 
is  no  longer  clear,  but  has  been  modified  by  many 
Gothic  intermarriages,  which  was  never  our  case. 
We  are  pure  Sephardim.  Lara  thoroughly  compre- 
hends Palestine  and  all  that  pertains  to  it.  He  has 
been  there  a  quarter  of  a  century,  and  might  have 
been  Archbishop  of  Seville.  You  see,  he  is  master  of 
the  old  as  well  as  the  new  learning;  this  is  very  im- 
portant; they  often  explain  each  other.  Your  bishops 
here  know  nothing  about  these  things.  How  can 
they  ?  A  few  centuries  back  they  were  tattooed  sav- 
ages. This  is  the  advantage  which  Rome  has  over 
you,  and  which  you  never  can  understand.  That 
Church  was  founded  by  a  Hebrew,  and  the  magnetic 
influence  lingers.  But  you  will  go  to  the  fountain 
head.  Theology  requires  an  apprenticeship  of  some 
thousand  years  at  least;  to  say  nothing  of  clime  and 
race.  You  cannot  get  on  with  theology  as  you  do 
with  chemistry  and  mechanics.  Trust  me,  there  is 
something  deeper  in  it.  1  shall  give  you  a  note  to 
Lara;  cultivate  him,  he  is  the  man  you  want.  You 
will  want  others;  they  will  come;  but  Lara  has  the 
first  key.' 


i62  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'I  am  sorry  to  trouble  you  about  such  things,'  said 
Tancred,  in  a  hesitating  voice,  'but  perhaps  I  may 
not  have  the  great  pleasure  to  see  you  again,  and 
Lord  Eskdale  said  that  I  was  to  speak  to  you  about 
some  letters  of  credit.' 

'Oh!  we  shall  meet  before  you  go.  But  what  you 
say  reminds  me  of  something.  As  for  money,  there 
is  only  one  banker  in  Syria;  he  is  everywhere,  at 
Aleppo,  Damascus,  Beiroot,  Jerusalem.  It  is  Besso. 
Before  the  expulsion  of  the  Egyptians,  he  really  ruled 
Syria,  but  he  is  still  powerful,  though  they  have  en- 
deavoured to  crush  him  at  Constantinople.  1  applied 
to  Metternich  about  him,  and,  besides  that,  he  is  mine. 
I  shall  give  you  a  letter  to  him,  but  not  merely  for 
your  money  affairs.  I  wish  you  to  know  him.  He 
lives  in  splendour  at  Damascus,  moderately  at  Jeru- 
salem, where  there  is  little  to  do,  but  which  he  loves 
as  a  residence,  being  a  Hebrew.  1  wish  you  to  know 
him.  You  will,  I  am  sure,  agree  with  me,  that  he  is, 
without  exception,  the  most  splendid  specimen  of  the 
animal  man  you  ever  became  acquainted  with.  His 
name  is  Adam,  and  verily  he  looks  as  if  he  were  in 
the  garden  of  Eden  before  the  fall.  But  his  soul  is  as 
grand  and  as  fine  as  his  body.  You  will  lean  upon  this 
man  as  you  would  on  a  faithful  charger.  His  divan 
is  charming;  you  will  always  find  there  the  most  in- 
telligent people.  You  must  learn  to  smoke.  There  is 
nothing  that  Besso  cannot  do;  make  him  do  every- 
thing you  want;  have  no  scruples;  he  will  be  grati- 
fied. Besides,  he  is  one  of  those  who  kiss  my  signet. 
These  two  letters  will  open  Syria  to  you,  and  any 
other  land,  if  you  care  to  proceed.  Give  yourself  no 
trouble  about  any  other  preparations.' 

'And  how  am  1  to  thank  you.?'  said  Tancred,  ris- 


TANCRED  163 

ing;  'and  how  am  1  to  express  to  you  all  my  grati- 
tude?' 

'  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  yourself  to-mor- 
row?' said  Sidonia.  'I  never  go  anywhere;  but  I 
have  a  few  friends  who  are  so  kind  as  to  come  some- 
times to  me.  There  are  two  or  three  persons  dining 
with  me  to-morrow,  whom  you  might  like  to  meet. 
Will  you  do  so  ?' 

'I  shall  be  most  proud  and  pleased.' 

'That's  well.  It  is  not  here;  it  is  in  Carlton  Gar- 
dens; at  sunset.'  And  Sidonia  continued  the  letter 
which  he  was  writing  when  Tancred  entered. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

An  Interesting  Rencontre. 

HENTancred  returned  home,  musing, 
from  a  visit  to  Sidonia,  he  found  the 
following  note: 

'  Lady  Bertie  and    Bellair  returns 

Lord  Montacute  his  carriage  with  a 

thousand  compliments  and  thanks.  She  fears  she  greatly 

incommoded  Lord  Montacute,  but   begs  to  assure  him 

how  very  sensible  she  is  of  his  considerate  courtesy. 

'Upper  Brook  Street,  Wednesday.' 

The  handwriting  was  of  that  form  of  scripture 
which  attracts;  refined  yet  energetic;  full  of  charac- 
ter. Tancred  recognised  the  titles  of  Bertie  and  Bel- 
lair as  those  of  two  not  inconsiderable  earldoms,  now 
centred  in  the  same  individual.  Lady  Bertie  and  Bel- 
lair was  herself  a  lady  of  the  high  nobility;  a  daugh- 
ter of  the  present  Duke  of  Fitz-Aquitaine;  the  son  of 
that  duke  who  was  the  father-in-law  of  Lord  de 
Mowbray,  and  whom  Lady  Firebrace,  the  present 
Lady  Bardolf,  and  Tadpole,  had  dexterously  converted 
to  conservatism  by  persuading  him  that  he  was  to  be 
Sir  Robert's  Irish  viceroy.  Lady  Bertie  and  Bellair, 
therefore,  was  first-cousin  to  Lady  Joan  Mountchesney, 
(164) 


TANCRED  165 

and  her  sister,  who  is  still  Lady  Maud  Fitz-Warene. 
Tancred  was  surprised  that  he  never  recollected  to 
have  met  before  one  so  distinguished  and  so  beautiful. 
His  conversation  with  Sidonia,  however,  had  driven 
the  little  adventure  of  the  morning  from  his  memory, 
and  now  that  it  was  thus  recalled  to  him,  he  did  not 
dwell  upon  it.  His  being  was  absorbed  in  his  para- 
mount purpose.  The  sympathy  of  Sidonia,  so  com- 
plete, and  as  instructive  as  it  was  animating,  was  a 
sustaining  power  which  we  often  need  when  we  are 
meditatmg  great  deeds.  How  often,  when  all  seems 
dark,  and  hopeless,  and  spiritless,  and  tame,  when 
slight  obstacles  figure  in  the  cloudy  landscape  as  Alps, 
and  the  rushing  cataracts  of  our  invention  have  sub- 
sided into  drizzle,  a  single  phrase  of  a  great  man 
instantaneously  flings  sunshine  on  the  intellectual  land- 
scape, and  the  habitual  features  of  power  and  beauty, 
over  which  we  have  so  long  mused  in  secret  confi- 
dence and  love,  resume  all  their  energy  and  lustre. 

The  haunting  thought  that  occasionally,  notwith- 
standing his  strong  will,  would  perplex  the  soul  and 
agitate  the  heart  of  Tancred;  the  haunting  thought 
that,  all  this  time,  he  was  perhaps  the  dupe  of  boyish 
fantasies,  was  laid  to-day.  Sometimes  he  had  felt, 
Why  does  no  one  sympathise  with  my  views;  why, 
though  they  treat  them  with  conventional  respect,  is 
it  clear  that  all  I  have  addressed  hold  them  to  be  ab- 
surd ?  My  parents  are  pious  and  instructed;  they  are 
predisposed  to  view  everything  1  say,  or  do,  or  think, 
with  an  even  excessive  favour.  They  think  me 
moonstruck.  Lord  Eskdale  is  a  perfect  man  of  the 
world;  proverbially  shrewd,  and  celebrated  for  his 
judgment;  he  looks  upon  me  as  a  raw  boy,  and  be- 
lieves   that,  if   my    father    had    kept   me  at    Eton  and 


i66  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

sent  me  to  Paris,  I  should  by  this  time  have  ex- 
hausted my  crudities.  The  bishop  is  what  the  world 
calls  a  great  scholar;  he  is  a  statesman  who,  aloof 
from  faction,  ought  to  be  accustomed  to  take  just  and 
comprehensive  views;  and  a  priest  who  ought  to  be 
under  the  immediate  influence  of  the  Holy  Spirit.  He 
says  1  am  a  visionary.  All  this  might  well  be  dis- 
heartening; but  now  comes  one  whom  no  circum- 
stances impel  to  judge  my  project  with  indulgence; 
who  would,  at  the  first  glance,  appear  to  have  many 
prejudices  arrayed  against  it,  who  knows  more  of  the 
world  than  Lord  Eskdale,  and  who  appears  to  me  to 
be  more  learned  than  the  whole  bench  of  bishops, 
and  he  welcomes  my  ideas,  approves  my  conclusions, 
sympathises  with  my  suggestions;  develops,  illus- 
trates, enforces  them;  plainly  intimates  that  1  am  only 
on  the  threshold  of  initiation,  and  would  aid  me  to 
advance  to  the  innermost  mysteries. 

There  was  this  night  a  great  ball  at  Lady  Bardolfs, 
in  Belgrave  Square.  One  should  generally  mention 
localities,  because  very  often  they  indicate  character. 
Lady  Bardolf  lived  next  door  to  Mrs.  Guy  Flouncey. 
Both  had  risen  in  the  world,  though  it  requires  some 
esoteric  knowledge  to  recognise  the  patrician  par- 
venue;  and  both  had  finally  settled  themselves  down 
in  the  only  quarter  which  Lady  Bardolf  thought 
worthy  of  her  new  coronet,  and  Mrs.  Guy  Flouncey 
of  her  new  visiting  list. 

Lady  Bardolf  had  given  up  the  old  f^imily  mansion 
of  the  Firebraces  in  Hanover  Square,  at  the  same  time 
that  she  had  resigned  their  old  title.  Politics  being 
dead,  in  consequence  of  the  majority  of  1841,  who, 
after  a  little  kicking  for  the  million,  satisfactorily  as- 
sured the  minister  that    there    was    no   vice   in   them. 


TANCRED  167 

Lady  Bardolf  had  chalked  out  a  new  career,  and  one 
of  a  still  more  eminent  and  exciting  character  than 
her  previous  pursuit.  Lady  Bardolf  was  one  of  those 
ladies  —  there  are  several  —  who  entertain  the  curious 
idea  that  they  need  only  to  be  known  in  certain  high 
quarters  to  be  immediately  selected  as  the  principal 
objects  of  court  favour.  Lady  Bardolf  was  always 
putting  herself  in  the  way  of  it;  she  never  lost  an 
opportunity;  she  never  missed  a  drawing-room,  con- 
trived to  be  at  all  the  court  balls,  plotted  to  be  in- 
vited to  a  costume  fete,  and  expended  the  tactics  of 
a  campaign  to  get  asked  to  some  grand  chateau  hon- 
oured by  august  presence.  Still  Her  Majesty  had  not 
yet  sent  for  Lady  Bardolf.  She  was  still  very  good 
friends  with  Lord  Masque,  for  he  had  social  influence, 
and  could  assist  her;  but  as  for  poor  Tadpole,  she  had 
sadly  neglected  him,  his  sphere  being  merely  political, 
and  that  being  no  longer  interesting.  The  honest 
gentleman  still  occasionally  buzzed  about  her,  slaver- 
ing portentous  stories  about  malcontent  country  gen- 
tlemen, mumbling  Maynooth,  and  shaking  his  head  at 
Young  England.  Tadpole  was  wont  to  say  in  con- 
fidence, that  for  his  part  he  wished  Sir  Robert  had 
left  alone  religion  and  commerce,  and  confined  him- 
self to  finance,  which  was  his  forte  as  long  as  he  had 
a  majority  to  carry  the  projects  which  he  found  in 
the  pigeon-holes  of  the  Treasury,  and  which  are  al- 
ways at  the  service  of  every  minister. 

Well,  it  was  at  Lady  Bardolfs  ball,  close  upon 
midnight,  that  Tancred,  who  had  not  long  entered, 
and  had  not  very  far  advanced  in  the  crowded  saloons, 
turning  his  head,  recognised  his  heroine  of  the  morn- 
ing, his  still  more  recent  correspondent,  Lady  Bertie 
and  Bellair.     She  was  speaking  to  Lord  Valentine,     It 

15     B.  D.— 24 


i68  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

was  impossible  to  mistake  her;  rapid  as  had  been  his 
former  observation  of  her  face,  it  was  too  remarkable 
to  be  forgotten,  though  the  captivating  details  were 
only  the  result  of  his  present  more  advantageous  in- 
spection. A  small  head  and  large  dark  eyes,  dark  as 
her  rich  hair  which  was  quite  unadorned,  a  pale  but 
delicate  complexion,  small  pearly  teeth,  were  charms 
that  crowned  a  figure  rather  too  much  above  the 
middle  height,  yet  undulating  and  not  without  grace. 
Her  countenance  was  calm  without  being  grave;  she 
smiled  with  her  eyes. 

She  was  for  a  moment  alone;  she  looked  round, 
and  recognised  Tancred;  she  bowed  to  him  with  a 
beaming  glance.     Instantly  he  was  at  her  side. 

'Our  second  meeting  to-day,'  she  said,  in  a  low, 
sweet  voice. 

'How  came  it  that  we  never  met  before.?'  he  re- 
plied. 

•1  have  just  returned  from  Paris;  the  first  time  1 
have  been  out;  and,  had  it  not  been  for  you,'  she 
added,  'I  should  not  have  been  here  to-night.  I 
think  they  would  have  put  me  in  prison.' 

'  Lady  Bardolf  ought  to  be  very  much  obliged  to 
me,  and  so  ought  the  world.' 

'I  am,'  said  Lady  Bertie  and  Bellair. 

'That  is  worth  everything  else,'  said  Tancred. 

'What  a  pretty  carriage  you  have!  I  do  not  think 
I  shall  ever  get  into  mine  again.  I  am  almost  glad 
they  have  destroyed  my  chariot.  I  am  sure  I  shall 
never  be  able  to  drive  in  anything  else  now  except  a 
brougham.' 

'Why  did  you  not  keep  mine?' 

'You  are  magnificent;  too  gorgeous  and  oriental 
for  these  cold  climes.     You  shower   your    presents  as 


TANCRED  169 

if  you  were  in  the  East,  which  Lord  Valentine  tells 
me  you  are  about  to  visit.     When  do  you  leave  us?' 

M  think  of  going  immediately.' 

'Indeed!'  said  Lady  Bertie  and  Bellair,  and  her 
countenance  changed.  There  was  a  pause,  and  then 
she  continued  playfully,  yet  as  it  were  half  in  sad- 
ness, '  I  almost  wish  you  had  not  come  to  my  rescue 
this  morning.' 

'And  why?' 

'  Because  I  do  not  like  to  make  agreeable  acquaint- 
ances only  to  lose  them.' 

'  1  think  that  I  am  most  to  be  pitied,'  said  Tancred. 

'You  are  wearied  of  the  world  very  soon.  Before 
you  can  know  us,  you  leave  us.' 

'1  am  not  wearied  of  the  world,  for  indeed,  as 
you  say,  1  know  nothing  of  it.  I  am  here  by  acci- 
dent, as  you  were  in  the  stoppage  to-day.  it  will 
disperse,  and  then  1  shall  get  on.' 

'  Lord  Valentine  tells  me  that  you  are  going  to  real- 
ise my  dream  of  dreams,  that  you  are  going  to  Jeru- 
salem.' 

'Ah!'  said  Tancred,  kindling,  'you  too  have  felt 
that  want?' 

'  But  1  never  can  pardon  myself  for  not  having 
satisfied  it,'  said  Lady  Bertie  and  Bellair  in  a  mourn- 
ful tone,  and  looking  in  his  face  with  her  beautiful 
dark  eyes.  'It  is  the  mistake  of  my  life,  and  now 
can  never  be  remedied.  But  1  have  no  energy.  1 
ought,  as  a  girl,  when  they  opposed  my  purpose,  to 
have  taken  up  my  palmer's  staff,  and  never  have 
rested  content  till  I  had  gathered  my  shell  on  the 
strand  of  Joppa.' 

'It  is  the  right  feeling  '  said  Tancred.  '1  am  per- 
suaded we  ought  all  to  go.' 


lyo  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'But  we  remain  here,'  said  the  lady,  in  a  tone  of 
suppressed  and  elegant  anguish;  'here,  where  we  all 
complain  of  our  hopeless  lives;  with  not  a  thought 
beyond  the  passing  hour,  yet  all  bewailing  its  weari- 
some and  insipid   moments.' 

'Our  lot  is  cast  in  a  material  age,'  said  Tancred. 

'The  spiritual  can  alone  satisfy  me,'  said  Lady 
Bertie  and  Bellair. 

'Because  you  have  a  soul,'  continued  Tancred, 
with  animation,  'still  of  a  celestial  hue.  They  are 
rare  in  the  nineteenth  century.  Nobody  now  thinks 
about  heaven.  They  never  dream  of  angels.  All  their 
existence  is  concentrated  in  steamboats  and  railways.' 

'You  are  right,'  said  the  lady,  earnestly;  'and  you 
fly  from  it.' 

'1  go  for  other  purposes;  I  would  say  even  higher 
ones,'  said  Tancred. 

'I  can  understand  you;  your  feelings  are  my  own. 
Jerusalem  has  been  the  dream  of  my  life.  I  have  al- 
ways been  endeavouring  to  reach  it,  but  somehow  or 
other  1  never  got  further  than  Paris.' 

'And  yet  it  is  very  easy  now  to  get  to  Jerusalem,' 
said  Tancred;  'the  great  difficulty,  as  a  very  remark- 
able man  said  to  me  this  morning,  is  to  know  what 
to  do  when  you  are  there.' 

'Who  said  that  to  you.^'  inquired  Lady  Bertie  and 
Bellair,  bending  her  head. 

'  It  was  the  person  I  was  going  to  call  upon  when 
I  met  you;  Monsieur  de  Sidonia.' 

'Monsieur  de  Sidonia!'  said  the  lady,  with  anima- 
tion.    'Ah!  you  know  him.?' 

'Not  as  much  as  1  could  wish.  I  saw  him  to-day 
for  the  first  time.  My  cousin,  Lord  Eskdale,  gave  me 
a  letter  of  introduction  to  him,  for  his  advice  and  as- 


TANCRED  171 

sistance  about  my  journey.  Sidonia  has  been  a  great 
traveller.' 

'There  is  no  person  1  wish  to  know  so  much  as 
M.  de  Sidonia,'  said  Lady  Bertie  and  Bellair.  '  He  is  a 
great  friend  of  Lord  Eskdale,  I  think.?  I  must  get 
Lord  Eskdale,'  she  added,  musingly,  'to  give  me  a 
little  dinner,  and  ask  M.  de  Sidonia  to  meet  me.' 

'He  never  goes  anywhere;  at  least  I  have  heard 
so,'  said  Tancred. 

'  He  once  used  to  do,  and  to  give  us  great  fetes. 
I  remember  hearing  of  them  before  I  was  out.  We 
must  make  him  resume  them.     He  is  immensely  rich,' 

'I  dare  say  he  may  be,'  said  Tancred.  'I  wonder 
how  a  man  with  his  intellect  and  ideas  can  think  of 
the  accumulation  of  wealth.' 

"Tis  his  destiny,'  said  Lady  Bertie  and  Bellair. 
'  He  can  no  more  disembarrass  himself  of  his  heredi- 
tary millions  than  a  dynasty  of  the  cares  of  empire. 
1  wonder  if  he  will  get  the  Great  Northern.  They 
talked  of  nothing  else  at  Paris.' 

'Of  what?'  said  Tancred. 

'Oh!  let  us  talk  of  Jerusalem!'  said  Lady  Bertie 
and  Bellair.  'Ah,  here  is  Augustus!  Let  me  make 
you  and  my  husband  acquainted.' 

Tancred  almost  expected  to  see  the  moustached 
companion  of  the  morning,  but  it  was  not  so.  Lord 
Bertie  and  Bellair  was  a  tall,  thin,  distinguished, 
withered-looking  young  man,  who  thanked  Tancred 
for  his  courtesy  of  the  morning  with  a  sort  of  gracious 
negligence,  and,  after  some  easy  talk,  asked  Tancred 
to  dine  with  them  on  the  morrow.  He  was  engaged, 
but  he  promised  to  call  on  Lady  Bertie  and  Bellair 
immediately,  and  see  some  drawings  of  the  Holy 
Land. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

Lord  Henry  Sympathises. 

ASSING  through  a  marble  ante- 
chamber, Tancred  was  ushered 
into  an  apartment  half  saloon  and 
half  library;  the  choicely-bound 
volumes,  which  were  not  too  nu- 
merous, were  ranged  on  shelves  in- 
laid in  the  walls,  so  that  they  ornamented,  without 
diminishing,  the  apartment.  These  walls  were  painted 
in  encaustic,  corresponding  with  the  coved  ceiling, 
which  was  richly  adorned  in  the  same  fashion.  A  curtain 
of  violet  velvet,  covering  if  necessary  the  large  window, 
which  looked  upon  a  balcony  full  of  flowers,  and  the 
umbrageous  Park;  an  Axminster  carpet,  manufactured 
to  harmonise  both  in  colour  and  design  with  the  rest 
of  the  chamber;  a  profusion  of  luxurious  seats;  a 
large  table  of  ivory  marquetry,  bearing  a  carved  silver 
bell  which  once  belonged  to  a  pope;  a  Naiad,  whose 
golden  urn  served  as  an  inkstand;  some  daggers  that 
acted  as  paper  cutters,  and  some  French  books  just 
arrived;  a  group  of  beautiful  vases  recently  released 
from  an  Egyptian  tomb  and  ranged  on  a  tripod  of 
malachite:  the  portrait  of  a  statesman,  and  the  bust 
of  an  emperor,  and  a  sparkling  fire,  were  all  circum- 
stances  which    made   the   room    both    interesting   and 

('72) 


TANCRED  173 

comfortable  in  which  Sidonia  welcomed  Tancred  and 
introduced  him  to  a  guest  who  had  preceded  him, 
Lord  Henry  Sydney. 

It  was  a  name  that  touched  Tancred,  as  it  has  all 
the  youth  of  England,  significant  of  a  career  that 
would  rescue  public  life  from  that  strange  union  of 
lax  principles  and  contracted  sympathies  which  now 
form  the  special  and  degrading  features  of  British 
politics.  It  was  borne  by  one  whose  boyhood  we 
have  painted  amid  the  fields  and  schools  of  Eton,  and 
the  springtime  of  whose  earliest  youth  we  traced  by 
the  sedgy  waters  of  the  Cam.  We  left  him  on  the 
threshold  of  public  life;  and,  in  four  years,  Lord 
Henry  had  created  that  reputation  which  now  made 
him  a  source  of  hope  and  solace  to  millions  of  his 
countrymen.  But  they  were  four  years  of  labour 
which  outweighed  the  usual  exertions  of  public  men 
in  double  that  space.  His  regular  attendance  in  the 
House  of  Commons  alone  had  given  him  as  much 
Parliamentary  experience  as  fell  to  the  lot  of  many  of 
those  who  had  been  first  returned  in  1837,  and  had 
been,  therefore,  twice  as  long  in  the  House.  He  was 
not  only  a  vigilant  member  of  public  and  private  com- 
mittees, but  had  succeeded  in  appointing  and  con- 
ducting several  on  topics  which  he  esteemed  of  high 
importance.  Add  to  this,  that  he  took  an  habitual 
part  in  debate,  and  was  a  frequent  and  effective  pub- 
lic writer;  and  we  are  furnished  with  an  additional 
testimony,  if  that  indeed  were  wanting,  that  there  is 
no  incentive  to  exertion  like  the  passion  for  a  noble 
renown.  Nor  should  it  be  forgotten,  that,  in  all  he 
accomplished,  he  had  but  one  final  purpose,  and 
that  the  highest.  The  debate,  the  committee,  the 
article  in  the  Journal  or  the  Review,  the  public  meet- 


174  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

ing,  the  private  research,  these  were  all  means  to  ad- 
vance that  which  he  had  proposed  as  the  object  of 
his  public  Hfe,  namely,  to  elevate  the  condition  of  the 
people. 

Although  there  was  no  public  man  whose  powers 
had  more  rapidly  ripened,  still  it  was  interesting  to 
observe  that  their  maturity  had  been  faithful  to  the 
healthy  sympathies  of  his  earlier  years.  The  boy, 
whom  we  have  traced  intent  upon  the  revival  of  the 
pastimes  of  the  people,  had  expanded  into  the  states- 
man, who,  in  a  profound  and  comprehensive  invest! 
gation  of  the  elements  of  public  wealth,  had  shown 
that  a  jaded  population  is  not  a  source  of  national 
prosperity.  What  had  been  a  picturesque  emotion 
had  now  become  a  statistical  argument.  The  ma- 
terial system  that  proposes  the  supply  of  constant  toil 
to  a  people  as  the  perfection  of  polity,  had  received 
a  staggering  blow  from  the  exertions  of  a  young  pa- 
trician, who  announced  his  belief  that  labour  had  its 
rights  as  well  as  its  duties.  What  was  excellent 
about  Lord  Henry  was,  that  he  was  not  a  mere  phi- 
lanthropist, satisfied  to  rouse  public  attention  to  a 
great  social  evil,  or  instantly  to  suggest  for  it  some 
crude  remedy. 

A  scholar  and  a  man  of  the  world,  learned  in  his- 
tory and  not  inexperienced  in  human  nature,  he  was 
sensible  that  we  must  look  to  the  constituent  prin- 
ciples of  society  for  the  causes  and  the  cures  of  great 
national  disorders.  He  therefore  went  deeply  into  the 
question,  nor  shrank  from  investigating  how  far  those 
disorders  were  produced  by  the  operation  or  the  des- 
uetude of  ancient  institutions,  and  how  far  it  might 
be  necessary  to  call  new  influences  into  political  ex- 
istence  for  their   remedy.     Richly   informed,  still  stu- 


TANCRED  175 

dious,  fond  of  labour  and  indefatigable,  of  a  gentle 
disposition  though  of  an  ardent  mind,  calm  yet  ener- 
getic, very  open  to  conviction,  but  possessing  an  in- 
flexibility amounting  even  to  obstinacy  when  his 
course  was  once  taken,  a  ready  and  improving 
speaker,  an  apt  and  attractive  writer,  affable  and  sin- 
cere, and  with  the  undesigning  faculty  of  making 
friends,  Lord  Henry  seemed  to  possess  all  the  quali- 
ties of  a  popular  leader,  if  we  add  to  them  the  golden 
ones:  high  lineage,  an  engaging  appearance,  youth, 
and  a  temperament  in  which  the  reason  had  not  been 
developed  to  the  prejudice  of  the  heart. 

'And  when  do  you  start  for  the  Holy  Land?'  said 
Lord  Henry  to  Tancred,  in  a  tone  and  with  a  coun- 
tenance which  proved  his  sympathy. 

'I  have  clutched  my  staff,  but  the  caravan  lingers.' 

'I  envy  you!' 

'Why  do  you  not  go?' 

Lord  Henry  slightly  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and 
said,  '  It  is  too  late.  I  have  begun  my  work  and  I 
cannot  leave  it.' 

'If  a  Parliamentary  career  could  save  this  country,' 
said  Tancred,  '  I  am  sure  you  would  be  a  public  bene- 
factor. I  have  observed  what  you  and  Mr.  Con- 
ingsby  and  some  of  your  friends  have  done  and  said, 
with  great  interest.  But  Parliament  seems  to  me  to 
be  the  very  place  which  a  man  of  action  should  avoid. 
A  Parliamentary  career,  that  old  superstition  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  was  important  when  there  were 
no  other  sources  of  power  and  fame.  An  aristocracy 
at  the  head  of  a  people  whom  they  had  plundered  of 
their  means  of  education,  required  some  cultivated 
tribunal  whose  sympathy  might  stimulate  their  intelli- 
gence and  satisfy  their  vanity.     Parliament  was  never 


176  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

so  great  as  when  they  debated  with  closed  doors. 
The  public  opinion,  of  which  they  never  dreamed, 
has  superseded  the  rhetorical  club  of  our  great-grand- 
fathers. They  know  this  well  enough,  and  try  to 
maintain  their  unnecessary  position  by  affecting  the 
character  of  men  of  business,  but  amateur  men  of 
business  are  very  costly  conveniences.  In  this  age  it 
is  not  Parliament  that  does  the  real  work.  It  does 
not  govern  Ireland,  for  example.  If  the  manufacturers 
want  to  change  a  tariff,  they  form  a  commercial 
league,  and  they  effect  their  purpose.  It  is  the  same 
with  the  abolition  of  slavery,  and  all  our  great  revo- 
lutions. Parliament  has  become  as  really  insignificant 
as  for  two  centuries  it  has  kept  the  monarch,  O'Con- 
nell  has  taken  a  good  share  of  its  power;  Cobden  has 
taken  another;  and  I  am  inclined  to  believe,'  said 
Tancred,  'though  I  care  little  about  it,  that,  if  our 
order  had  any  spirit  or  prescience,  they  would  put 
themselves  at  the  head  of  the  people,  and  take  the 
rest.' 

'Coningsby  dines  here  to-day,'  said  Sidonia,  who, 
unobserved,  had  watched  Tancred  as  he  spoke,  with 
a  searching  glance. 

'Notwithstanding  what  you  say,' said  Lord  Henry, 
smiling,  'I  wish  I  could  induce  you  to  remain  and 
help  us.     You  would  be  a  great  ally.' 

'  I  go  to  a  land,'  said  Tancred,  'that  has  never 
been  blessed  by  that  fatal  drollery  called  a  represent- 
ative government,  though  Omniscience  once  deigned 
to  trace  out  the    polity  which  should  rule  it.' 

At  this  moment  the  servant  announced  Lord  and 
Lady  Marney. 

Political  sympathy  had  created  a  close  intimacy 
between    Lord    Marney    and    Coningsby.      They   were 


TANCRED  177 

necessary  to  each  other.  They  were  both  men  en- 
tirely devoted  to  pubhc  affairs,  and  sitting  in  dif- 
ferent Houses,  both  young,  and  both  masters  of 
fortunes  of  the  first  class,  they  were  indicated  as  in- 
dividuals who  hereafter  might  take  a  lead,  and,  far 
from  clashing,  would  co-operate  with  each  other. 
Through  Coningsby  the  Marneys  had  become  ac- 
quainted with  Sidonia,  who  liked  them  both,  particu- 
larly Sybil.  Although  received  by  society  with  open 
arms,  especially  by  the  high  nobility,  who  affected  to 
look  upon  Sybil  quite  as  one  of  themselves.  Lady 
Marney,  notwithstanding  the  homage  that  every- 
where awaited  her,  had  already  shown  a  disposition 
to  retire  as  much  as  possible  within  the  precinct  of  a 
chosen  circle. 

This  was  her  second  season,  and  Sybil  ventured 
to  think  that  she  had  made,  in  the  general  gaieties  of 
her  first,  a  sufficient  oblation  to  the  genius  of  fashion, 
and  the  immediate  requirements  of  her  social  position. 
Her  life  was  faithful  to  its  first  impulse.  Devoted  to 
the  improvement  of  the  condition  of  the  people,  she 
was  the  moving  spring  of  the  charitable  development 
of  this  great  city.  Her  house,  without  any  pedantic 
effort,  had  become  the  focus  of  a  refined  society, 
who,  though  obliged  to  show  themselves  for  the  mo- 
ment in  the  great  carnival,  wear  their  masks,  blow 
their  trumpets,  and  pelt  the  multitude  with  sugar- 
plums, were  glad  to  find  a  place  where  they  could 
at  all  times  divest  themselves  of  their  mummery,  and 
return  to  their  accustomed  garb  of  propriety  and 
good   taste. 

Sybil,  too,  felt  alone  in  the  world.  Without  a 
relation,  without  an  acquaintance  of  early  and  other 
days,   she    clung    to    her    husband    with    a    devotion 


178  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

which  was  peculiar  as  well  as  profound,  Egremont 
was  to  her  more  than  a  husband  and  a  lover;  he  was 
her  only  friend;  it  seemed  to  Sybil  that  he  could  be  her 
only  friend.  The  disposition  of  Lord  Marney  was  not 
opposed  to  the  habits  of  his  wife.  Men,  when  they 
are  married,  often  shrink  from  the  glare  and  bustle  of 
those  social  multitudes  which  are  entered  by  bache- 
lors with  the  excitement  of  knights-errant  in  a  fairy 
wilderness,  because  they  are  supposed  to  be  rife  with 
adventures,  and,  perhaps,  fruitful  of  a  heroine.  The 
adventure  sometimes  turns  out  to  be  a  catastrophe, 
and  the  heroine  a  copy  instead  of  an  original;  but  let 
that  pass. 

Lord  Marney  liked  to  be  surrounded  by  those  who 
sympathised  with  his  pursuit;  and  his  pursuit  was 
politics,  and  politics  on  a  great  scale.  The  common- 
place career  of  official  distinction  was  at  his  com- 
mand. A  great  peer,  with  abilities  and  ambition,  a 
good  speaker,  supposed  to  be  a  Conservative,  he 
might  soon  have  found  his  way  into  the  cabinet,  and, 
like  the  rest,  have  assisted  in  registering  the  decrees 
of  one  too  powerful  individual.  But  Lord  Marney 
had  been  taught  to  think  at  a  period  of  life  when  he 
little  dreamed  of  the  responsibility  which  fortune  had 
in  store  for  him. 

The  change  in  his  position  had  not  altered  the  con- 
clusions at  which  he  had  previously  arrived.  He  held 
that  the  state  of  England,  notwithstanding  the  super- 
ficies of  a  material  prosperity,  was  one  of  impending 
doom,  unless  it  were  timely  arrested  by  those  who 
were  in  high  places.  A  man  of  fine  mind  rather  than 
of  brilliant  talents,  Lord  Marney  found,  in  the  more 
vivid  and  impassioned  intelligence  of  Coningsby,  the 
directing  sympathy  which  he  required.    Tadpole  looked 


TANCRED  179 

upon  his  lordship  as  little  short  of  insane.  'Do  you 
see  that  man?'  he  would  say.  as  Lord  Marney  rode 
by.  '  He  might  be  Privy  Seal,  and  he  throws  it  all 
away  for  the  nonsense  of  Young  England!' 

Mrs.  Coningsby  entered  the  room  almost  on  the 
footsteps  of  the  Marneys. 

'1  am  in  despair  about  Harry,'  she  said,  as  she 
gave  a  finger  to  Sidonia,  '  but  he  told  me  not  to  wait 
for  him  later  than  eight.  I  suppose  he  is  kept  at 
the  House.  Do  you  know  anything  of  him,  Lord 
Henry?' 

'You  may  make  yourself  quite  easy  about  him,' 
said  Lord  Henry.  '  He  promised  Vavasour  to  support 
a  motion  which  he  has  to-day,  and  perhaps  speak  on 
it.  1  ought  to  be  there  too,  but  Charles  Buller  told 
me  there  would  certainly  be  no  division  and  so  I 
ventured  to  pair  off  with  him.' 

'He  will  come  with  Vavasour,'  said  Sidonia,  'who 
makes  up  our  party.  They  will  be  here  before  we 
have  seated  ourselves.' 

The  gentlemen  had  exchanged  the  usual  inquiry, 
whether  there  was  anything  new  to-day,  without 
waiting  for  the  answer.  Sidonia  introduced  Tancred 
and  Lord  Marney. 

'And  what  have  you  been  doing  to-day?'  said 
Edith  to  Sybil,  by  whose  side  she  had  seated  herself. 
'  Lady  Bardolf  did  nothing  last  night  but  grander  me, 
because  you  never  go  to  her  parties.  In  vain  I  said 
that  you  looked  upon  her  as  the  most  odious  of  her 
sex,  and  her  balls  the  pest  of  society.  She  was  not 
in  the  least  satisfied.     And  how  is  Gerard?' 

'Why,  we  really  have  been  very  uneasy  about 
him,'  said  Lady  Marney,  'but  the  last  bulletin,'  she 
added,  with  a  smile,    'announces  a  tooth.' 


i8o  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

*  Next  year  you  must  give  him  a  pony,  and  let  him 
ride  with  my  Harry;  I  mean  my  little  Harry,  Harry  of 
Monmouth  I  call  him;  he  is  so  like  a  portrait  Mr. 
Coningsby  has  of  his  grandfather,  the  same  debauched 
look.' 

'Your  dinner  is  served,  sir!' 

Sidonia  offered  his  hand  to  Lady  Marney;  Edith 
was  attended  by  Tancred.  A  door  at  the  end  of  the 
room  opened  into  a  marble  corridor,  which  led  to  the 
dining-room,  decorated  in  the  same  style  as  the  library. 
It  was  a  suite  of  apartments  which  Sidonia  used  for 
an  intimate  circle  like  the  present. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

A  Modern  Troubadour. 

HEY  seated  themselves  at  a  round 
table,  on  which  everything  seemed 
brilliant  and  sparkling;  nothing 
heavy,  nothing  oppressive.  There 
was  scarcely  anything  that  Sidonia 
disliked  so  much  as  a  small  table, 
groaning,  as  it  is  aptly  termed,  with  plate.  He  shrunk 
from  great  masses  of  gold  and  silver;  gigantic  groups, 
colossal  shields,  and  mobs  of  tankards  and  flagons; 
and  never  used  them  except  on  great  occasions,  when 
the  banquet  assumes  an  Egyptian  character,  and  be- 
comes too  vast  for  refinement.  At  present,  the  dinner 
was  served  on  Sevres  porcelain  of  Rose  du  Barri, 
raised  on  airy  golden  stands  of  arabesque  workman- 
ship; a  mule  bore  your  panniers  of  salt,  or  a  sea- 
nymph  proffered  it  you  on  a  shell  just  fresh  from  the 
ocean,  or  you  found  it  in  a  bird's  nest;  by  every 
guest  a  different  pattern.  In  the  centre  of  the  table, 
mounted  on  a  pedestal,  was  a  group  of  pages  in 
Dresden  china.  Nothing  could  be  more  gay  than 
their  bright  cloaks  and  flowing  plumes,  more  elabo- 
rately exquisite  than  their  laced  shirts  and  rosettes,  or 
more  fantastically  saucy  than  their  pretty  affected 
faces,  as  each,  with  extended  arm,  held  a   light   to   a 

(i8i) 


i82  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

guest.  The  room  was  otherwise  illumined  from  the 
sides. 

The  guests  had  scarcely  seated  themselves  when 
the  two  absent  ones  arrived. 

'Well,  you  did  not  divide,  Vavasour,'  said  Lord 
Henry. 

'Did  1  not?'  said  Vavasour;  'and  nearly  beat  the 
Government.     You  are  a  pretty  fellow!' 

'  I  was  paired.' 

'With  some  one  who  could  not  stay.  Your 
brother,  Mrs.  Coningsby,  behaved  like  a  man,  sacri- 
ficed his  dinner,  and  made  a  capital  speech.' 

'Oh!  Oswald,  did  he  speak.?  Did  you  speak, 
Harry  ? ' 

'No;  I  voted.  There  was  too  much  speaking  as 
it  was;  if  Vavasour  had  not  replied,  1  believe  we 
should  have  won.' 

'But  then,  my  dear  fellow,  think  of  my  points; 
think  how  they  laid  themselves  open!' 

'A  majority  is  always  the  best  repartee,'  said 
Coningsby. 

'I  have  been  talking  with  Montacute,'  whispered 
Lord  Henry  to  Coningsby,  who  was  seated  next  to 
him.  '  Wonderful  fellow!  You  can  conceive  nothing 
richer!  Very  wild,  but  all  the  right  ideas;  exaggerated 
of  course.     You  must  get  hold  of  him  after  dinner.' 

'But  they  say  he  is  going  to  Jerusalem.' 

'But  he  will  return.' 

'I  do  not  know  that;  even  Napoleon  regretted 
that  he  had  ever  re-crossed  the  Mediterranean.  The 
East  is  a  career.' 

Mr.  Vavasour  was  a  social  favourite;  a  poet  and 
a  real  poet,  and  a  troubadour,  as  well  as  a  member 
of   Parliament;   travelled,    sv/eet-tempered,  and    good- 


TANCRED  183 

hearted;  amusing  and  clever.  With  cathohc  sympa- 
thies and  an  eclectic  turn  of  mind,  Mr.  Vavasour  saw 
something  good  in  everybody  and  everything,  which 
is  certainly  amiable,  and  perhaps  just,  but  disqualifies 
a  man  in  some  degree  for  the  business  of  life,  which 
requires  for  its  conduct  a  certain  degree  of  prejudice. 
Mr.  Vavasour's  breakfasts  were  renowned.  Whatever 
your  creed,  class,  or  country,  one  might  almost  add 
your  character,  you  were  a  welcome  guest  at  his 
matutinal  meal,  provided  you  were  celebrated.  That 
qualification,  however,  was  rigidly  enforced. 

It  not  rarely  happened  that  never  were  men  more 
incongruously  grouped.  Individuals  met  at  his  hos- 
pitable house  who  had  never  met  before,  but  who  for 
years  had  been  cherishing  in  solitude  mutual  detesta- 
tion, with  all  the  irritable  exaggeration  of  the  literary 
character.  Vavasour  liked  to  be  the  Amphitryon  of  a 
cluster  of  personal  enemies.  He  prided  himself  on 
figuring  as  the  social  medium  by  which  rival  reputa- 
tions became  acquainted,  and  paid  each  other  in  his 
presence  the  compliments  which  veiled  their  ineffable 
disgust.  All  this  was  very  well  at  his  rooms  in  the 
Albany,  and  only  funny;  but  when  he  collected  his 
menageries  at  his  ancestral  hall  in  a  distant  county, 
the  sport  sometimes  became  tragic. 

A  real  philosopher,  alike  from  his  genial  disposi- 
tion and  from  the  influence  of  his  rich  and  various 
information.  Vavasour  moved  amid  the  strife,  sympa- 
thising with  every  one;  and  perhaps,  after  all,  the 
philanthropy  which  was  his  boast  was  not  untinged 
by  a  dash  of  humour,  of  which  rare  and  charming 
quality  he  possessed  no  inconsiderable  portion.  Vava- 
sour liked  to  know  everybody  who  was  known,  and 
to  see  everything  which  ought  to  be   seen.      He   also 

15     B.  D.-25 


i84  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

was  of  opinion  that  everybody  who  was  known  ought 
to  know  him;  and  that  the  spectacle,  however  splen- 
did or  exciting,  was  not  quite  perfect  without  his 
presence. 

His  life  was  a  gyration  of  energetic  curiosity;  an 
insatiable  whirl  of  social  celebrity.  There  was  not  a 
congregation  of  sages  and  philosophers  in  any  part  of 
Europe  which  he  did  not  attend  as  a  brother.  He 
was  present  at  the  camp  of  Kalisch  in  his  yeomanry 
uniform,  and  assisted  at  the  festivals  of  Barcelona  in 
an  Andalusian  jacket.  He  was  everywhere,  and  at 
everything;  he  had  gone  down  in  a  diving-bell  and 
gone  up  in  a  balloon.  As  for  his  acquaintances,  he 
was  welcomed  in  every  land;  his  universal  sympa- 
thies seemed  omnipotent.  Emperor  and  king,  jacobin 
and  carbonaro,  alike  cherished  him.  He  was  the 
steward  of  Polish  balls  and  the  vindicator  of  Russian 
humanity;  he  dined  with  Louis  Philippe,  and  gave 
dinners  to  Louis  Blanc. 

This  was  a  dinner  of  which  the  guests  came  to 
partake.  Though  they  delighted  in  each  other's  so- 
ciety, their  meetings  were  not  so  rare  that  they  need 
sacrifice  the  elegant  pleasures  of  a  refined  meal 
for  the  opportunity  of  conversation.  They  let  that 
take  its  chance,  and  ate  and  drank  without  affectation. 
Nothing  so  rare  as  a  female  dinner  where  people  eat, 
and  few  things  more  delightful.  On  the  present  oc- 
casion some  time  elapsed,  while  the  admirable  per- 
formances of  Sidonia's  cook  were  discussed,  with 
little  interruption;  a  burst  now  and  then  from  the 
ringing  voice  of  Mrs.  Coningsby  crossing  a  lance  with 
her  habitual  opponent,  Mr.  Vavasour,  who,  however, 
generally  withdrew  from  the  skirmish  when  a  fresh 
dish  was  handed  to  him. 


TANCRED  185 

At  length,  the  second  course  being  served,  Mrs. 
Coningsby  said,  'I  think  you  have  all  eaten  enough: 
I  have  a  piece  of  information  for  you.  There  is  going 
to  be  a  costume  ball  at  the  Palace.' 

This  announcement  produced  a  number  of  simul- 
taneous remarks  and  exclamations.  'When  was  it  to 
be?  What  was  it  to  be?  An  age,  or  a  country;  or 
an  olio  of  all  ages  and  all  countries?' 

'An  age  is  a  masquerade,'  said  Sidonia.  'The 
more  contracted  the  circle,  the  more  perfect  the  illu- 
sion.' 

'Oh,  no!'  said  Vavasour,  shaking  his  head.  'An 
age  is  the  thing;  it  is  a  much  higher  thing.  What 
can  be  finer  than  to  represent  the  spirit  of  an  age?' 

'And  Mr.  Vavasour  to  perform  the  principal  part,' 
said  Mrs.  Coningsby.  'I  know  exactly  what  he 
means.  He  wants  to  dance  the  polka  as  Petrarch,  and 
find  a  Laura  in  every  partner.' 

'You  have  no  poetical  feeling,'  said  Mr.  Vavasour, 
waving  his  hand.     'I  have  often  told  you  so.' 

'  You  will  easily  find  Lauras,  Mr.  Vavasour,  if  you 
often  write  such  beautiful  verses  as  I  have  been  read- 
ing to-day,'  said  Lady  Marney. 

'You,  on  the  contrary,'  said  Mr.  Vavasour,  bowing, 
'have  a  great  deal  of  poetic  feeling.  Lady  Marney;  I 
have  always  said  so.' 

'But  give  us  your  news,  Edith,'  said  Coningsby. 
'Imagine  our  suspense,  when  it  is  a  question,  whether 
we  are  all  to  look  picturesque  or  quizzical.' 

'  Ah,  you  want  to  know  whether  you  can  go  as  Car- 
dinal Mazarin,  or  the  Duke  of  Ripperda,  Harry.  I 
know  exactly  what  you  all  are  now  thinking  of;  whether 
you  will  draw  the  prize  in  the  forthcoming  lottery, 
and   get   exactly  the    epoch  and   the    character    which 


i86  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

suit  you.  Is  it  not  so,  Lord  Montacute  ?  Would  not 
you  like  to  practise  a  little  with  your  crusados  at  the 
Queen's  ball  before  you  go  to  the  Holy  Sepulchre?' 

*I  would  rather  hear  your  description  of  it,'  said 
Tancred. 

'  Lord  Henry,  I  see,  is  half  inclined  to  be  your 
companion  as  a  Red-cross  Knight,'  continued  Edith. 
'As  for  Lady  Marney,  she  is  the  successor  of  Mrs. 
Fry,  and  would  wish,  I  am  sure,  to  go  to  the  ball  as 
her  representative.' 

'  And  pray  what  are  you  thinking  of  being  ? '  said 
Mr.  Vavasour.  '  We  should  hke  very  much  to  be 
favoured  with  Mrs.  Coningsby's  ideal  of  herself.' 

'Mrs.  Coningsby  leaves  the  ideal  to  poets.  She  is 
quite  satisfied  to  remain  what  she  is,  and  it  is  her 
intention  to  do  so,  though  she  means  to  go  to  Her 
Majesty's  ball.' 

'  1  see  that  you  are  in  the  secret,'  said  Lord  Marney. 

'  If  I  could  only  keep  secrets,  I  might  turn  out 
something,'  said  Mrs.  Coningsby.  'I  am  the  deposi- 
tary of  so  much  that  is  occult — joys,  sorrows,  plots, 
and  scrapes;  but  I  always  tell  Harry,  and  he  always 
betrays  me.  Well,  you  must  guess  a  little.  Lady 
Marney  begins.' 

'Well,  we  were  at  one  at  Turin,'  said  Lady  Mar- 
ney, 'and  it  was  oriental,  Lalla  Rookh.  Are  you  to 
be  a  sultana.?' 

Mrs.  Coningsby  shook  her  head. 

'Come,  Edith,'  said  her  husband;  '  if  you  know, 
which  1  doubt ' 

'  Oh !  you  doubt ' 

'Valentine  told  me  yesterday,'  said  Mr.  Vavasour, 
in  a  mock  peremptory  tone,  '  that  there  would  not 
be  a  ball.' 


TANCRED  187 

'And  Lord  Valentine  told  me  yesterday  that  there 
would  be  a  ball,  and  what  the  ball  would  be;  and 
what  is  more,  I  have  fixed  on  my  dress,'  said  Mrs. 
Coningsby. 

'  Such  a  rapid  decision  proves  that  much  antiqua- 
rian research  is  not  necessary,'  said  Sidonia.  'Your 
period  is  modern.' 

'Ah!'  said  Edith,  looking  at  Sidonia,  'he  always 
finds  me  out.  Well,  Mr.  Vavasour,  you  will  not  be 
able  to  crown  yourself  with  a  laurel  wreath,  for  the 
gentlemen  will  wear  wigs.' 

'  Louis  Quatorze  ? '  said  her  husband.  '  Peel  as 
Louvois.' 

'No,  Sir  Robert  would  be  content  with  nothing 
less  than  Le  Grand  Colbert,  me  Richelieu,  No.  i^, 
grand  magasin  de  nouveautes  tres-anciennes:  prix  fixe, 
avec  qiielqiies  rabais.' 

'  A  description  of  Conservatism,'  said  Coningsby. 

The  secret  was  soon  revealed:  every  one  had  a 
conjecture  and  a  commentary:  gentlemen  in  wigs, 
and  ladies  powdered,  patched,  and  sacked.  Vavasour 
pondered  somewhat  dolefully  on  the  anti-poetic  spirit 
of  the  age;  Coningsby  hailed  him  as  the  author  of 
Leonidas. 

'And  you,  I  suppose,  will  figure  as  one  of  the 
"boys"  arrayed  against  the  great  Sir  Robert?'  said 
Mr.  Vavasour,  with  a  countenance  of  mock  veneration 
for  that  eminent  personage. 

'The  "boys"  beat  him  at  last,'  said  Coningsby; 
and  then,  with  a  rapid  precision  and  a  richness  of 
colouring  which  were  peculiar  to  him,  he  threw  out 
a  sketch  which  placed  the  period  before  them;  and 
they  began  to  tear  it  to  tatters,  select  the  incidents, 
and  apportion  the  characters. 


i88  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

Two  things  which  are  necessary  to  a  perfect 
dinner  are  noiseless  attendants,  and  a  precision  in 
serving  the  various  dishes  of  each  course,  so  that  they 
may  all  be  placed  upon  the  table  at  the  same  mo- 
ment. A  deficiency  in  these  respects  produces  that 
bustle  and  delay  which  distract  many  an  agreeable 
conversation  and  spoil  many  a  pleasant  dish.  These 
two  excellent  characteristics  were  never  wanting  at 
the  dinners  of  Sidonia.  At  no  house  was  there  less 
parade.  The  appearance  of  the  table  changed  as  if  by 
the  waving  of  a  wand,  and  silently  as  a  dream.  And 
at  this  moment,  the  dessert  being  arranged,  fruits  and 
their  beautiful  companions,  flowers,  reposed  in  ala- 
baster baskets  raised  on  silver  stands  of  filigree 
work. 

There  was  half  an  hour  of  merry  talk,  graceful  and 
gay:  a  good  story,  a  bon-mot  fresh  from  the  mint, 
some  raillery  like  summer  lightning,  vivid  but  not 
scorching. 

'And  now,'  said  Edith,  as  the  ladies  rose  to  re- 
turn to  the  library,  'and  now  we  leave  you  to  May- 
nooth.' 

'  By-the-bye,  what  do  they  say  to  it  in  your  House, 
Lord  Marney?'  inquired  Henry  Sydney,  filling  his 
glass. 

'It  will  go  down,'  said  Lord  Marney.  'A  strong 
dose  for  some,  but  they  are  used  to  potent  potions.' 

'The  bishops,  they  say,  have  not  made  up  their 
minds.' 

'Fancy  bishops  not  having  made  up  their  minds,' 
exclaimed  Tancred:  'the  only  persons  who  ought 
never  to  doubt.' 

'Except  when  they  are  offered  a  bishopric,'  said 
Lord  Marney. 


TANCRED  189 

'Why  I  like  this  Maynooth  project,'  said  Tancred, 
'  though  otherwise  it  little  interests  me,  is,  that  all 
the  shopkeepers  are  against  it.' 

'Don't  tell  that  to  the  minister,'  said  Coningsby, 
'or  he  will  give  up  the  measure.' 

'Well,  that  is  the  very  reason,'  said  Vavasour, 
'  why,  though  otherwise  inclined  to  the  grant,  I  hesi- 
tate as  to  my  vote.  I  have  the  highest  opinion  of 
the  shopkeepers;  I  sympathise  even  with  their  prej- 
udices. They  are  the  class  of  the  age;  they  represent 
its  order,  its  decency,  its  industry.' 

'And  you  represent  them,'  said  Coningsby.  'Va- 
vasour is  the  quintessence  of  order,  decency,  and  in- 
dustry.' 

'You  may  jest,'  said  Vavasour,  shaking  his  head 
with  a  spice  of  solemn  drollery;  'but  public  opinion 
must  and  ought  to  be  respected,  right  or  wrong.' 

'What  do  you  mean  by  public  opinion?'  said 
Tancred. 

'The  opinion  of  the  reflecting  majority,'  said  Vava- 
sour. 

'Those  who  don't  read  your  poems,'  said  Con- 
ingsby. 

'Boy,  boy!'  said  Vavasour,  who  could  endure  rail- 
lery from  one  he  had  been  at  college  with,  but  who 
was  not  over-pleased  at  Coningsby  selecting  the  pres- 
ent occasion  to  claim  his  franchise,  when  a  new  man 
was  present  like  Lord  Montacute,  on  whom  Vavasour 
naturally  wished  to  produce  an  impression.  It  must 
be  owned  that  it  was  not,  as  they  say,  very  good 
taste  in  the  husband  of  Edith,  but  prosperity  had  de- 
veloped in  Coningsby  a  native  vein  of  sauciness  which 
It  required  all  the  solemnity  of  the  senate  to  repress. 
Indeed,  even  there,   upon   the    benches,  with   a   grave 


I90  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

face,  he  often  indulged  in  quips  and  cranks  that  con- 
vulsed his  neighbouring  audience,  who  often,  amid 
the  long  dreary  nights  of  statistical  imposture,  sought 
refuge  in  his  gay  sarcasms,  his  airy  personalities,  and 
happy  quotations. 

'I  do  not  see  how  there  can  be  opinion  without 
thought,'  said  Tancred;  'and  1  do  not  believe  the  pub- 
lic ever  think.  How  can  they.?  They  have  no  time. 
Certainly  we  live  at  present  under  the  empire  of  gen- 
eral ideas,  which  are  extremely  powerful.  But  the 
public  have  not  invented  those  ideas.  They  have 
adopted  them  from  convenience.  No  one  has  con- 
fidence in  himself;  on  the  contrary,  every  one  has  a 
mean  idea  of  his  own  strength  and  has  no  reliance 
on  his  own  judgment.  Men  obey  a  general  impulse, 
they  bow  before  an  external  necessity,  whether  for 
resistance  or  action.  Individuality  is  dead;  there  is  a 
want  of  inward  and  personal  energy  in  man;  and 
that  is  what  people  feel  and  mean  when  they  go 
about  complaining  there  is  no  faith.' 

'You  would  hold,  then,'  said  Henry  Sydney,  'that 
the  progress  of  public  liberty  marches  with  the  decay 
of  personal  greatness  ? ' 

'  It  would  seem  so.' 

'  But  the  majority  will  always  prefer  public  liberty 
to  personal  greatness,'  said  Lord  Marney. 

'  But,  without  personal  greatness,  you  never  would 
have  had  public  liberty,'  said  Coningsby. 

'After  all,  it  is  civilisation  that  you  are  kicking 
against,'  said  Vavasour. 

'I  do  not  understand  what  you  mean  by  civilisa- 
tion,' said  Tancred. 

'  The  progressive  development  of  the  faculties  of 
man,'  said  Vavasour. 


TANCRED  191 

'Yes,  but  what  is  progressive  development?'  said 
Sidonia;  'and  what  are  the  faculties  of  man?  If  de- 
velopment be  progressive,  how  do  you  account  for 
the  state  of  Italy?  One  will  tell  you  it  is  supersti- 
tion, indulgences,  and  the  Lady  of  Loretto;  yet  three 
centuries  ago,  when  all  these  influences  were  much 
more  powerful,  Italy  was  the  soul  of  Europe.  The 
less  prejudiced,  a  Puseyite  for  example,  like  our 
friend  Vavasour,  will  assure  us  that  the  state  of  Italy 
has  nothing  to  do  with  the  spirit  of  its  religion,  but 
that  it  is  entirely  an  affair  of  commerce;  a  revolution 
of  commerce  has  convulsed  its  destinies.  I  cannot 
forget  that  the  world  was  once  conquered  by  Italians 
who  had  no  commerce.  Has  the  development  of 
Western  Asia  been  progressive?  It  is  a  land  of 
tombs  and  ruins.  Is  China  progressive,  the  most 
ancient  and  numerous  of  existing  societies?  Is  Eu- 
rope itself  progressive  ?  Is  Spain  a  tithe  as  great  as 
she  was  ?  Is  Germany  as  great  as  when  she  invented 
printing;  as  she  was  under  the  rule  of  Charles  the 
Fifth  ?  France  herself  laments  her  relative  inferiority 
to  the  past.  But  England  flourishes.  Is  it  what  you 
call  civilisation  that  makes  England  flourish  ?  Is  it 
the  universal  development  of  the  faculties  of  man  that 
has  rendered  an  island,  almost  unknown  to  the  an- 
cients, the  arbiter  of  the  world  ?  Clearly  not.  It  is 
her  inhabitants  that  have  done  this;  it  is  an  affair  of 
race.  A  Saxon  race,  protected  by  an  insular  position, 
has  stamped  its  diligent  and  methodic  character  on 
the  century.  And  when  a  superior  race,  with  a  supe- 
rior idea  to  work  and  order,  advances,  its  state  will 
be  progressive,  and  we  shall,  perhaps,  follow  the  ex- 
ample of  the  desolate  countries.  All  is  race;  there  is 
no  other  truth.' 


192  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'  Because  it  includes  ail  others  ? '  said  Lord  Henry. 

'You  have  said  it.' 

'As  for  Vavasour's  definition  of  civilisation,'  said 
Coningsby,  'civihsation  was  more  advanced  in  an- 
cient than  modern  times;  then  what  becomes  of  the 
progressive  principle  ?  Look  at  the  great  centuries  of 
the  Roman  Empire!  You  had  two  hundred  millions 
of  human  beings  governed  by  a  jurisprudence  so  phil- 
osophical that  we  have  been  obliged  to  adopt  its 
laws,  and  living  in  perpetual  peace.  The  means  of 
communication,  of  which  we  now  make  such  a  boast, 
were  far  more  vast  and  extensive  in  those  days. 
What  were  the  Great  Western  and  the  London  and 
Birmingham  to  the  Appian  and  Flaminian  roads? 
After  two  thousand  five  hundred  years,  parts  of  these 
are  still  used.  A  man  under  the  Antonines  might 
travel  from  Paris  to  Antioch  with  as  much  ease  and 
security  as  we  go  from  London  to  York.  As  for  free 
trade,  there  never  was  a  really  unshackled  commerce 
except  in  the  days  when  the  whole  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean coasts  belonged  to  one  power.  What  a  chat- 
ter there  is  now  about  the  towns,  and  how  their 
development  is  cited  as  the  peculiarity  of  the  age, 
and  the  great  security  for  public  improvement.  Why, 
the  Roman  Empire  was  the  empire  of  great  cities. 
Man  was  then  essentially  municipal.' 

'What  an  empire!'  said  Sidonia.  'All  the  supe- 
rior races  in  all  the  superior  climes.' 

'But  how  does  all  this  accord  with  your  and 
Coningsby's  favourite  theory  of  the  influence  of  indi- 
vidual character?'  said  Vavasour  to  Sidonia;  'which 
I  hold,  by-the-bye,'  he  added  rather  pompously,  'to 
be  entirely  futile.' 

'  What  is  individual   character  but  the    personifica- 


TANCRED  193 

tion  of  race,*  said  Sidonia,  'its  perfection  and  choice 
exemplar?  Instead  of  being  an  inconsistency,  the  be- 
lief in  the  influence  of  the  individual  is  a  corollary  of 
the  original  proposition.' 

'  1  look  upon  a  belief  in  the  influence  of  indi- 
vidual character  as  a  barbarous  superstition,'  said 
Vavasour. 

'  Vavasour  believes  that  there  would  be  no  heroes 
if  there  were  a  police,'  said  Coningsby;  'but  1  be- 
lieve that  civilisation  is  only  fatal  to  minstrels,  and 
that  is  the  reason  now  we  have  no  poets.' 

'How  do  you  account  for  the  Polish  failure  in 
1831  .?'  said  Lord  Marney.  'They  had  a  capital  army, 
they  were  backed  by  the  population,  but  they  failed. 
They  had  everything  but  a  man.' 

'Why  were  the  Whigs  smashed  in  1834,'  said 
Coningsby,  'but  because  they  had  not  a  man?' 

'What  is  the  real  explanation  of  the  state  of 
Mexico?'  said  Sidonia.     'It  has  not  a  man.' 

'So  much  for  progress  since  the  days  of  Charles 
the  Fifth,'  said  Henry  Sydney.  'The  Spaniards  then 
conquered   Mexico,  and   now  they  cannot  govern   it.' 

'So  much  for  race,'  said  Vavasour.  'The  race  is 
the  same;  why  are  not  the  results  the  same?' 

'Because  it  is  worn  out,'  said  Sidonia.  'Why  do 
not  the  Ethiopians  build  another  Thebes,  or  excavate 
the  colossal  temples  of  the  cataracts?  The  decay  of 
a  race  is  an  inevitable  necessity,  unless  it  lives  in 
deserts  and  never  mixes  its  blood.' 


CHAPTER   XXI. 


Sweet  Sympathy. 


AM  sorry,  my  dear  mother,  that  I 
cannot  accompany  you;  but  I  must 
go  down  to  my  yacht  this  morn- 
ing, and  on  my  return  from 
Greenwich  I  have  an  engage- 
ment.' 

This  was  said  about  a  week  after  the  dinner  at 
Sidonia's,  by  Lord  Montacute  to  the  duchess. 
'That  terrible  yacht!'  thought  the  duchess. 
Her  Grace,  a  year  ago,  had  she  been  aware  of  it, 
would  have  deemed  Tancred's  engagement  as  fearful 
an  affair.  The  idea  that  her  son  should  have  called 
every  day  for  a  week  on  a  married  lady,  beautiful 
and  attractive,  would  have  filled  her  with  alarm 
amounting  almost  to  horror.  Yet  such  was  the  inno- 
cent case.  It  might  at  the  first  glance  seem  difficult 
to  reconcile  the  rival  charms  of  the  Basilisk  and  Lady 
Bertie  and  Bellair,  and  to  understand  how  Tancred 
could  be  so  interested  in  the  preparations  for  a  voy- 
age which  was  to  bear  him  from  the  individual  in 
whose  society  he  found  a  daily  gratification.  But  the 
truth  is,  that  Lady  Bertie  and  Bellair  was  the  only 
person  who  sympathised  with  his  adventure. 
094) 


TANCRED  195 

She  listened  with  the  liveliest  concern  to  his  ac- 
count of  all  his  progress;  she  even  made  many  ad- 
mirable suggestions,  for  Lady  Bertie  and  Bellair  had 
been  a  frequent  visitor  at  Cowes,  and  was  quite  in- 
itiated in  the  mysteries  of  the  dilettante  service  of  the 
Yacht  Club.  She  was  a  capital  sailor;  at  least  she 
always  told  Tancred  so.  But  this  was  not  the  chief 
source  of  sympathy,  or  the  principal  bond  of  union, 
between  them.  It  was  not  the  voyage,  so  much  as 
the  object  of  the  voyage,  that  touched  all  the  passion 
of  Lady  Bertie  and  Bellair.  Her  heart  was  at  Jerusa- 
lem. The  sacred  city  was  the  dream  of  her  life;  and, 
amid  the  dissipations  of  May  Fair  and  the  distractions 
of  Belgravia,  she  had  in  fact  all  this  time  only  been 
thinking  of  Jehoshaphat  and  Sion.  Strange  coincidence 
of  sentiment  —  strange  and  sweet! 

The  enamoured  Montacute  hung  over  her  with  pi- 
ous rapture,  as  they  examined  together  Mr.  Roberts's 
Syrian  drawings,  and  she  alike  charmed  and  aston- 
ished him  by  her  familiarity  with  every  locality  and 
each  detail.  She  looked  like  a  beautiful  prophetess  as 
she  dilated  with  solemn  enthusiasm  on  the  sacred 
scene.  Tancred  called  on  her  every  day,  because 
when  he  called  the  first  time  he  had  announced  his 
immediate  departure,  and  so  had  been  authorised  to 
promise  that  he  would  pay  his  respects  to  her  every 
day  till  he  went.  It  was  calculated  that  by  these 
means,  that  is  to  say  three  or  four  visits,  they  might 
perhaps  travel  through  Mr.  Roberts's  views  together 
before  he  left  England,  which  would  facilitate  their 
correspondence,  for  Tancred  had  engaged  to  write  to 
the  only  person  in  the  world  worthy  of  receiving  his 
letters.  But,  though  separated,  Lady  Bertie  and  Bel- 
lair would  be  with  him  in  spirit;  and  once  she  sighed 


196  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

and  seemed  to  murmur  that  if  his  voyage  could  only 
be  postponed  awhile,  she  might  in  a  manner  become 
his  fellow-pilgrim,  for  Lord  Bertie,  a  great  sportsman, 
had  a  desire  to  kill  antelopes,  and,  wearied  with  the 
monotonous  slaughter  of  English  preserves,  tired  even 
of  the  eternal  moors,  had  vague  thoughts  of  seeking 
new  sources  of  excitement  amid  the  snipes  of  the 
Grecian  marshes,  .and  the  deer  and  wild  boars  of  the 
desert  and  the  Syrian  hills. 

While  his  captain  was  repeating  his  inquiries  for 
instructions  on  the  deck  of  the  Basilisk  at  Greenwich, 
moored  off  the  Trafalgar  Hotel,  Tancred  fell  into  rev- 
eries of  female  pilgrims  kneeling  at  the  Holy  Sepul- 
chre by  his  side;  then  started,  gave  a  hurried  reply, 
and  drove  back  quickly  to  town,  to  pass  the  remain- 
der of  the  morning  in  Brook  Street. 

The  two  or  three  days  had  expanded  into  two  or 
three  weeks,  and  Tancred  continued  to  call  daily  on 
Lady  Bertie  and  Bellair,  to  say  farewell.  It  was  not 
wonderful:  she  was  the  only  person  in  London  who 
understood  him;  so  she  delicately  intimated,  so  he 
profoundly  felt.  They  had  the  same  ideas;  they  must 
have  the  same  idiosyncrasy.  The  lady  asked  with  a 
sigh  why  they  had  not  met  before;  Tancred  found 
some  solace  in  the  thought  that  they  had  at  least  be- 
come acquainted.  There  was  something  about  this 
lady  very  interesting  besides  her  beauty,  her  bright 
intelligence,  and  her  seraphic  thoughts.  She  was  evi- 
dently the  creature  of  impulse;  to  a  certain  degree 
perhaps  the  victim  of  her  imagination.  She  seemed 
misplaced  in  life.  The  tone  of  the  century  hardly 
suited  her  refined  and  romantic  spirit.  Her  ethereal 
nature  seemed  to  shrink  from  the  coarse  reality  which 
invades  in  our  days  even  the    boudoirs    of   May    Fair. 


TANCRED  197 

There  was  something  in  her  appearance  and  the  tem- 
per of  her  being  which  rebuked  the  material,  sordid, 
calculating  genius  of  our  reign  of  Mammon. 

Her  presence  in  this  world  was  a  triumphant  vin- 
dication of  the  claims  of  beauty  and  of  sentiment.  It 
was  evident  that  she  was  not  happy;  for,  though  her 
fair  brow  always  lighted  up  when  she  met  the  glance 
of  Tancred,  it  was  impossible  not  to  observe  that  she 
was  sometimes  strangely  depressed,  often  anxious 
and  excited,  frequently  absorbed  in  reverie.  Yet  her 
vivid  intelligence,  the  clearness  and  precision  of  her 
thought  and  fancy,  never  faltered.  In  the  unknown 
yet  painful  contest,  the  intellectual  always  triumphed. 
It  was  impossible  to  deny  that  she  was  a  woman  of 
great  ability. 

Nor  could  it  for  a  moment  be  imagined  that  these 
fitful  moods  were  merely  the  routine  intimations  that 
her  domestic  hearth  was  not  as  happy  as  it  deserved 
to  be.  On  the  contrary.  Lord  and  Lady  Bertie  and 
Bellair  were  the  very  best  friends;  she  always  spoke 
of  her  husband  with  interest  and  kindness;  they  were 
much  together,  and  there  evidently  existed  between 
them  mutual  confidence.  His  lordship's  heart,  indeed, 
was  not  at  Jerusalem;  and  perhaps  this  want  of  sym- 
pathy on  a  subject  of  such  rare  and  absorbing  inter- 
est might  account  for  the  occasional  musings  of  his 
wife,  taking  refuge  in  her  own  solitary  and  devoutly 
passionate  soul.  But  this  deficiency  on  the  part  of 
his  lordship  could  scarcely  be  alleged  against  him  as 
a  very  heinous  fault;  it  is  far  from  usual  to  find  a 
British  noble  who  on  such  a  topic  entertains  the  no- 
tions and  sentiments  of  Lord  Montacute;  almost  as 
rare  to  find  a  British  peeress  who  could  respond  to 
them  with  the  same  fervour  and  facility  as   the  beau- 


198  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

tiful  Lady  Bertie  and  Bellair.  The  life  of  a  British 
peer  is  mainly  regulated  by  Arabian  laws  and  Syrian 
customs  at  this  moment;  but,  while  he  sabbatically 
abstains  from  the  debate  or  the  rubber,  or  regulates 
the  quarterly  performance  of  his  judicial  duties  in  his 
province  by  the  advent  of  the  sacred  festivals,  he 
thinks  little  of  the  land  and  the  race  who,  under  the 
immediate  superintendence  of  the  Deity,  have  by  their 
sublime  legislation  established  the  principle  of  periodic 
rest  to  man,  or  by  their  deeds  and  their  dogmas, 
commemorated  by  their  holy  anniversaries,  have  ele- 
vated the  condition  and  softened  the  lot  of  every  na- 
tion except  their  own. 

'And  how  does  Tancred  get  on?'  asked  Lord 
Eskdale  one  morning  of  the  Duchess  of  Bellamont, 
with  a  dry  smile.  'I  understand  that,  instead  of 
going  to  Jerusalem,  he  is  going  to  give  us  a  fish 
dinner.' 

The  Duchess  of  Bellamont  had  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  Lady  Bertie  and  Bellair,  and  was  delighted 
with  her,  although  her  Grace  had  been  told  that  Lord 
Montacute  called  upon  her  every  day.  The  proud, 
intensely  proper,  and  highly  prejudiced  Duchess  of 
Bellamont  took  the  most  charitable  view  of  this  sud- 
den and  fervent  friendship.  A  female  friend,  who 
talked  about  Jerusalem,  but  kept  her  son  in  London, 
was  in  the  present  estimation  of  the  duchess  a  real 
treasure,  the  most  interesting  and  admirable  of  her 
sex.  Their  intimacy  was  satisfactorily  accounted  for 
by  the  invaluable  information  which  she  imparted  to 
Tancred;  what  he  was  to  see,  do,  eat,  drink;  how  he 
was  to  avoid  being  poisoned  and  assassinated,  escape 
fatal  fevers,  regularly  attend  the  service  of  the  Church 
of  England  in  countries  where  there  were  no  churches, 


TANCRED  199 

and  converse  in  languages  of  which  he  had  no  knowl- 
edge. He  could  not  have  a  better  counsellor  than 
Lady  Bertie,  who  had  herself  travelled,  at  least  to  the 
Faubourg  St.  Honore,  and,  as  Horace  Walpole  says, 
after  Calais  nothing  astonishes.  Certainly  Lady  Bertie 
had  not  been  herself  to  Jerusalem,  but  she  had  read 
about  it,  and  every  other  place.  The  duchess  was 
delighted  that  Tancred  had  a  companion  who  inter- 
ested him.  With  all  the  impulse  of  her  sanguine 
temperament,  she  had  already  accustomed  herself  to 
look  upon  the  long-dreaded  yacht  as  a  toy,  and  rather 
an  amusing  one,  and  was  daily  more  convinced  of 
the  prescient  shrewdness  of  her  cousin,  Lord  Eskdale. 

Tancred  was  going  to  give  them  a  fish  dinner!  A 
what?  A  sort  of  banquet  which  might  have  served 
for  the  marriage  feast  of  Neptune  and  Amphitrite,  and 
be  commemorated  by  a  constellation;  and  which 
ought  to  have  been  administered  by  the  Nereids  and 
the  Naiads;  terrines  of  turtle,  pools  of  water  souchee, 
flounders  of  every  hue,  and  eels  in  every  shape,  cut- 
lets of  salmon,  salmis  of  carp,  ortolans  represented  by 
whitebait,  and  huge  roasts  carved  out  of  the  sturgeon. 
The  appetite  is  distracted  by  the  variety  of  objects, 
and  tantalised  by  the  restlessness  of  perpetual  solici- 
tation; not  a  moment  of  repose,  no  pause  for  enjoy- 
ment; eventually,  a  feeling  of  satiety,  without 
satisfaction,  and  of  repletion  without  sustenance;  till, 
at  night,  gradually  recovering  from  the  whirl  of  the 
anomalous  repast,  famished  yet  incapable  of  flavour, 
the  tortured  memory  can  only  recall  with  an  effort, 
that  it  has  dined  off  pink  champagne  and  brown  bread 
and  butter! 

What  a  ceremony  to  be  presided  over  by  Tancred 
of  Montacute;  who,  if  he  deigned  to  dine  at  all,  ought 


aoo  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

to  have  dined  at  no  less  a  round  table  than  that  of 
King  Arthur.  What  a  consummation  of  a  sublime 
project!  What  a  catastrophe  of  a  spiritual  career!  A 
Greenwich  party  and  a  tavern  bill! 

All  the  world  now  is  philosophical,  and  therefore 
they  can  account  for  this  disaster.  Without  doubt 
we  are  the  creatures  of  circumstances;  and,  if  circum- 
stances take  the  shape  of  a  charming  woman,  who 
insists  upon  sailing  in  your  yacht,  which  happens  to 
to  be  at  Blackwall  or  Greenwich,  it  is  not  easy  to 
discover  how  the  inevitable  consequences  can  be 
avoided.  It  would  hardly  do,  off  the  Nore,  to  pre- 
sent your  mistress  with  a  sea-pie,  or  abruptly  re- 
mind your  farewell  friends  and  sorrowing  parents  of 
their  impending  loss  by  suddenly  serving  up  soup 
hermetically  sealed,  and  roasting  the  embalmed  joint, 
which  ought  only  to  have  smoked  amid  the  ruins 
of  Thebes  or  by  the  cataracts  of  Nubia. 

There  are,  however,  two  sides  of  every  picture;  a 
party  may  be  pleasant,  and  even  a  fish  dinner  not 
merely  a  whirl  of  dishes  and  a  clash  of  plates.  The 
guests  may  be  not  too  numerous,  and  well  assorted; 
the  attendance  not  too  devoted,  yet  regardful;  the 
weather  may  be  charming,  which  is  a  great  thing, 
and  the  giver  of  the  dinner  may  be  charmed,  and  that 
is  everything. 

The  party  to  see  the  Basilisk  was  not  only  the  most 
agreeable  of  the  season,  but  the  most  agreeable  ever 
known.  They  all  said  so  when  they  came  back.  Mr. 
Vavasour,  who  was  there,  went  to  all  his  evening 
parties;  to  the  assembly  by  the  wife  of  a  minister  in 
Carlton  Terrace;  to  a  rout  by  the  wife  of  the  leader 
of  opposition  in  Whitehall;  to  a  literary  soiree  in 
Westminster,  and    a    brace    of  balls   in    Portman   and 


TANCRED  20I 

Belgrave  Squares;  and  told  them  all  that  they  were 
none  of  them  to  be  compared  to  the  party  of  the 
morning,  to  which,  it  must  be  owned,  he  had  greatly 
contributed  by  his  good  humour  and  merry  wit.  Mrs. 
Coningsby  declared  to  every  one  that,  if  Lord  Monta- 
cute  would  take  her,  she  was  quite  ready  to  go  to 
Jerusalem;  such  a  perfect  vessel  was  the  Basilisk,  and 
such  an  admirable  sailor  was  Mrs.  Coningsby,  which, 
considering  that  the  river  was  like  a  mill-pond,  ac- 
cording to  Tancred's  captain,  or  like  a  mirror,  accord- 
ing to  Lady  Bertie  and  Bellair,  was  not  surprising. 
The  duke  protested  that  he  was  quite  glad  that  Mon- 
tacute  had  taken  to  yachting,  it  seemed  to  agree 
with  him  so  well;  and  spoke  of  his  son's  future 
movements  as  if  there  were  no  such  place  as  Pales- 
tine in  the  world.  The  sanguine  duchess  dreamed  of 
Cowes  regattas,  and  resolved  to  agree  to  any  arrange- 
ment to  meet  her  son's  fancy,  provided  he  would  stay 
at  home,  which  she  convinced  herself  he  had  now  re- 
solved to  do. 

'Our  cousin  is  so  wise,'  she  said  to  her  husband, 
as  they  were  returning.  '  What  could  the  bishop  mean 
by  saying  that  Tancred  was  a  visionary  ?  I  agree 
with  you,  George,  there  is  no  counsellor  like  a  man 
of  the  world.' 

'I  wish  M.  de  Sidonia  had  come,'  said  Lady  Ber- 
tie and  Bellair,  gazing  from  the  window  of  the  Trafal- 
gar on  the  moonlit  river  with  an  expression  of 
abstraction,  and  speaking  in  a  tone  almost  of  mel- 
ancholy. 

'I  also  wish  it,  since  you  do,'  said  Tancred.  'But 
they  say  he  goes  nowhere.  It  was  almost  pre- 
sumptuous in  me  to  ask  him,  yet  1  did  so  because  you 
wished  it.' 


202  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

M  never  shall  know  him,'  said  Lady  Bertie  and 
Bellair,  with  some  vexation. 

'He  interests  you,'  said  Tancred,  a  little  piqued. 

'I  had  so  many  things  to  say  to  him,'  said  her 
ladyship. 

'Indeed!'  said  Tancred;  and  then  he  continued,  'I 
offered  him  every  inducement  to  come,  for  I  told  him 
it  was  to  meet  you;  but  perhaps  if  he  had  known 
that  you  had  so  many  things  to  say  to  him,  he  might 
have  relented.' 

'So  many  things!  Oh!  yes.  You  know  he  has 
been  a  great  traveller;  he  has  been  everywhere;  he 
has  been  at  Jerusalem.' 

'Fortunate  man!'  exclaimed  Tancred,  half  to  him- 
self.    'Would  1  were  there!' 

'Would  we  were  there,  you  mean,'  said  Lady 
Bertie,  in  a  tone  of  exquisite  melody,  and  looking  at 
Tancred  with  her  rich,  charged  eyes. 

His  heart  trembled;  he  was  about  to  give  utterance 
to  some  wild  words,  but  they  died  upon  his  lips. 
Two  great  convictions  shared  his  being:  the  absolute 
necessity  of  at  once  commencing  his  pilgrimage,  and 
the  persuasion  that  life,  without  the  constant  presence 
of  this  sympathising  companion,  must  be  intolerable. 
What  was  to  be  done?  In  his  long  reveries,  where 
he  had  brooded  over  so  many  thoughts,  some  only 
of  which  he  had  as  yet  expressed  to  mortal  ear,  Tan- 
cred had  calculated,  as  he  believed,  every  combination 
of  obstacle  which  his  projects  might  have  to  encoun- 
ter; but  one,  it  now  seemed,  he  had  entirely  omitted, 
the  influence  of  woman.  Why  was  he  here  ?  Why 
was  he  not  away  ?  Why  had  he  not  departed  ?  The 
reflection  was  intolerable;  it  seemed  to  him  even  dis- 
graceful.     The    being   who   would    be     content   with 


TANCRED  203 

nothing  less  than  communing  with  celestial  powers 
in  sacred  climes,  standing  at  a  tavern  window  gazing 
on  the  moonlit  mudbanks  of  the  barbarous  Thames, 
a  river  which  neither  angel  nor  prophet  had  ever 
visited!  Before  him,  softened  by  the  hour,  was  the 
Isle  of  Dogs!  The  Isle  of  Dogs!  It  should  at  least 
be  Cyprus! 

The   carriages   were    announced;    Lady    Bertie   and 
Bellair  placed  her  arm  in  his. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

The  Crusader  Receives  a  Shock. 

ANCRED  passed  a  night  of  great 
disquiet.  His  mind  was  agitated, 
his  purposes  indefinite;  his  confi- 
dence in  himself  seemed  to  falter. 
Where  was  that  strong  will  that 
had  always  sustained  him  ?  that 
faculty  of  instant  decision  which  had  given  such 
vigour  to  his  imaginary  deeds?  A  shadowy  haze  had 
suffused  his  heroic  idol,  duty,  and  he  could  not  clearly 
distinguish  either  its  form  or  its  proportions.  Did  he 
wish  to  go  to  the  Holy  Land  or  not.'*  What  a  ques- 
tion ?  Had  it  come  to  that  ?  Was  it  possible  that  he 
could  whisper  such  an  enquiry,  even  to  his  midnight 
soul?  He  did  wish  to  go  to  the  Holy  Land;  his 
purpose  was  not  in  the  least  faltering;  he  most  de- 
cidedly wished  to  go  to  the  Holy  Land,  but  he  wished 
also  to  go  thither  in  the  company  of  Lady  Bertie  and 
Bellair. 

Tancred  could  not  bring  himself  to  desert  the  only 
being  perhaps  in  England,  excepting  himself,  whose 
heart  was  at  Jerusalem;  and  that  being  a  woman! 
There  seemed  something  about  it  unknightly,  unkind 
and  cowardly,  almost  base.  Lady  Bertie  was  a  heroine 
worthy  of  ancient  Christendom  rather  than  of  en- 
(204) 


TANCRED  205 

lightened  Europe.  In  the  old  days,  truly  the  good  old 
days,  when  the  magnetic  power  of  Western  Asia  on 
the  Gothic  races  had  been  more  puissant,  her  noble 
yet  delicate  spirit  might  have  been  found  beneath  the 
walls  of  Ascalon  or  by  the  purple  waters  of  Tyre. 
When  Tancred  first  met  her,  she  was  dreaming  of 
Palestine  amid  her  frequent  sadness;  he  could  not, 
utterly  void  of  all  self-conceit  as  he  was,  be  insensible 
to  the  fact  that  his  sympathy,  founded  on  such  a  di- 
vine congeniality,  had  often  chased  the  cloud  from 
her  brow  and  lightened  the  burthen  of  her  drooping 
spirit.  If  she  were  sad  before,  what  would  she  be 
now,  deprived  of  the  society  of  the  only  being  to 
whom  she  could  unfold  the  spiritual  mysteries  of  her 
romantic  soul  ?  Was  such  a  character  to  be  left  alone 
in  this  world  of  slang  and  scrip;  of  coarse  motives 
and  coarser  words  ?  Then,  too,  she  was  so  intelligent 
and  so  gentle;  the  only  person  who  understood  him, 
and  never  grated  for  an  instant  on  his  high  ideal. 
Her  temper  also  was  the  sweetest  in  the  world,  emi 
nent  as  her  generous  spirit.  She  spoke  of  others  with 
so  much  kindness,  and  never  indulged  in  that  spirit  of 
detraction  or  that  love  of  personal  gossip  which  Tancred 
had  frankly  told  her  he  abhorred.  Somehow  or  other 
it  seemed  that  their  tastes  agreed   on   everything. 

The  agitated  Tancred  rose  from  the  bed  where  the 
hope  of  slumber  was  vain.  The  fire  in  his  dressing- 
room  was  nearly  extinguished;  wrapped  in  his  cham- 
ber robe,  he  threw  himself  into  a  chair,  which  he 
drew  near  the  expiring  embers,  and  sighed. 

Unhappy  youth!  For  you  commences  that  great 
hallucination,  which  all  must  prove,  but  which  fortu- 
nately can  never  be  repeated,  and  which,  in  mockery, 
we  call  first  love.     The  physical  frame  has  its  infantile 


2o6  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

disorders;  the  cough  which  it  must  not  escape,  the 
burning  skin  which  it  must  encounter.  The  heart  has 
also  its  childish  and  cradle  malady,  which  may  be 
fatal,  but  which,  if  once  surmounted,  enables  the 
patient  to  meet  with  becoming  power  all  the  real  con- 
vulsions and  fevers  of  passion  that  are  the  heirloom 
of  our  after-life.  They,  too,  may  bring  destruction; 
but,  in  their  case,  the  cause  and  the  effect  are  more 
proportioned.  The  heroine  is  real,  the  sympathy  is 
wild  but  at  least  genuine,  the  catastrophe  is  that  of  a 
ship  at  sea  which  sinks  with  a  rich  cargo  in  a  noble 
venture. 

In  our  relations  with  the  softer  sex  it  cannot  be 
maintained  that  ignorance  is  bliss.  On  the  contrary, 
experience  is  the  best  security  for  enduring  love.  Love 
at  first  sight  is  often  a  genial  and  genuine  sentiment, 
but  first  love  at  first  sight  is  ever  eventually  branded 
as  spurious.  Still  more  so  is  that  first  love  which 
suffuses  less  rapidly  the  spirit  of  the  ecstatic  votary, 
when  he  finds  that  by  degrees  his  feelings,  as  the 
phrase  runs,  have  become  engaged.  Fondness  is  so 
new  to  him  that  he  has  repaid  it  with  exaggerated 
idolatry,  and  become  intoxicated  by  the  novel  gratifi- 
cation of  his  vanity.  Little  does  he  suspect  that  all 
this  time  his  seventh  heaven  is  but  the  crapulence  of 
self-love.  In  these  cases,  it  is  not  merely  that  every- 
thing is  exaggerated,  but  everything  is  factitious. 
Simultaneously,  the  imaginary  attributes  of  the  idol 
disappearing,  and  vanity  being  satiated,  all  ends  in  a 
crash  of  iconoclastic  surfeit. 

The  embers  became  black,  the  night  air  had  cooled 
the  turbulent  blood  of  Lord  Montacute,  he  shivered, 
returned  to  his  couch,  and  found  a  deep  and  invigor- 
ating repose. 


TANCRED  207 

The  next  morning,  about  two  hours  after  noon, 
Tancred  called  on  Lady  Bertie.  As  he  drove  up  to 
the  door,  there  came  forth  from  it  the  foreigner  who 
was  her  companion  in  the  city  fray  when  Tancred 
first  saw  her  and  went  to  her  rescue.  He  recognised 
Lord  Montacute,  and  bowed  with  much  ceremony, 
though  with  a  certain  grace  and  bearing.  He  was  a 
man  whose  wrinkled  visage  strangely  contrasted  with 
his  still  gallant  figure,  scrupulously  attired;  a  blue 
frock-coat  with  a  ribboned  button-hole,  a  well-turned 
boot,  hat  a  little  too  hidalgoish,  but  quite  new.  There 
was  something  respectable  and  substantial  about  him, 
notwithstanding  his  moustaches,  and  a  carriage  a  de- 
gree too  debonair  for  his  years.  He  did  not  look  like 
a  carbonaro  or  a  refugee.     Who  could  he  be? 

Tancred  had  asked  himself  this  question  before. 
This  was  not  the  first  time  that  he  had  encountered 
this  distinguished  foreigner  since  their  first  meeting. 
Tancred  had  seen  him  before  this,  quitting  the  door 
of  Lord  Bertie  and  Bellair;  had  stumbled  over  him 
before  this,  more  than  once,  on  the  staircase;  once, 
to  his  surprise,  had  met  him  as  he  entered  the  per- 
sonal saloon  of  Lady  Bertie.  As  it  was  evident,  on 
that  occasion,  that  his  visit  had  been  to  the  lady,  it 
was  thought  necessary  to  say  something,  and  he  had 
been  called  the  Baron,  and  described,  though  in  a 
somewhat  flurried  and  excited  manner,  as  a  particu- 
lar friend,  a  person  in  whom  they  had  the  most 
entire  confidence,  who  had  been  most  kind  to  them 
at  Paris,  putting  them  in  the  way  of  buying  the 
rarest  china  for  nothing,  and  who  was  now  over 
here  on  some  private  business  of  his  own,  of  great 
importance.  The  Bertie  and  Bellairs  felt  immense  in- 
terest  in    his    exertions,  and    wished   him    every   sue- 


2o8  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

cess;  Lord  Bertie  particularly.  It  was  not  at  all 
surprising,  considering  the  innumerable  kindnesses 
they  had  experienced  at  his  hands,  was  it? 

'Nothing  more  natural,'  replied  Tancred;  and  he 
turned  the  conversation. 

Lady  Bertie  was  much  depressed  this  morning,  so 
much  so  that  it  was  impossible  for  Tancred  not  to 
notice  her  unequal  demeanour.  Her  hand  trembled 
as  he  touched  it;  her  face,  flushed  when  he  entered, 
became  deadly  pale. 

'You  are  not  well,'  he  said.  'I  fear  the  open 
carriage  last  night  has  made  you  already  repent  our 
expedition.' 

She  shook  her  head.  It  was  not  the  open  car- 
riage, which  was  delightful,  nor  the  expedition,  which 
was  enchanting,  that  had  affected  her.  Would  that 
life  consisted  only  of  such  incidents,  of  barouches 
and  whitebait  banquets!  Alas!  no,  it  was  not  these. 
But  she  was  nervous,  her  slumbers  had  been  dis- 
quieted, she  had  encountered  alarming  dreams;  she 
had  a  profound  conviction  that  something  terrible  was 
impending  over  her.  And  Tancred  took  her  hand,  to 
prevent,  if  possible,  what  appeared  to  be  inevitable 
hysterics.  But  Lady  Bertie  and  Bellair  was  a  strong- 
minded  woman,  and  she  commanded  herself. 

M  can  bear  anything,'  said  Tancred,  in  a  trembling 
voice,  'but  to  see  you  unhappy.'  And  he  drew  his 
chair  nearer  to  hers. 

Her  face  was  hid,  her  beautiful  face  in  her  beau- 
tiful hand.     There  was  silence  and  then  a  sigh. 

'Dear  lady,'  said  Lord  Montacute. 

'What  is  it?'  murmured    Lady  Bertie   and    Bellair. 

'Why  do  you  sigh  ?' 

'Because  1  am  miserable.' 


TANCRED  209 

'No,  no,  no,  don't  use  such  words,'  said  the  dis- 
tracted Tancred.  'You  must  not  be  miserable;  you 
shall  not  be.' 

'Can  I  help  it?    Are  we  not  about  to  part?' 

'We  need  not  part,'  he  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

'Then  you  will  remain?'  she  said,  looking  up, 
and  her  dark  brown  eyes  were  fixed  with  all  their 
fascination  on  the  tortured  Tancred. 

'Till  we  all  go,'  he  said,  in  a  soothing  voice. 

'That  can  never  be,'  said  Lady  Bertie;  'Augustus 
will  never  hear  of  it;  he  never  could  be  absent  more 
than  six  weeks  from  London,  he  misses  his  clubs 
so.  If  Jerusalem  were  only  a  place  one  could  get  at, 
something  might  be  done;  if  there  were  a  railroad  to 
it  for  example.' 

'A  railroad!'  exclaimed  Tancred,  with  a  look  of 
horror.     'A  railroad  to  Jerusalem!' 

'No,  I  suppose  there  never  can  be  one,'  continued 
Lady  Bertie,  in  a  musing  tone.  '  There  is  no  traffic. 
And  I  am  the  victim,'  she  added,  in  a  thrilling  voice; 
'  I  am  left  here  among  people  who  do  not  compre- 
hend me,  and  among  circumstances  with  which  I 
can  have  no  sympathy.  But  go.  Lord  Montacute,  go, 
and  be  happy,  alone.  I  ought  to  have  been  prepared 
for  all  this;  you  have  not  deceived  me.  You  told 
me  from  the  first  you  were  a  pilgrim,  but  I  indulged 
in  a  dream.  I  believe  that  I  should  not  only  visit 
Palestine,  but  even  visit  it  with  you.'  And  she 
leant  back  in  her  chair  and  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands. 

Tancred  rose  from  his  seat,  and  paced  the  cham- 
ber.    His  heart  seemed  to  burst. 

'What  is  all  this?'  he  thought.  'How  came  all 
this  to  occur?     How  has  arisen   this   singular   combi- 


2IO  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

nation  of  unforeseen  causes  and  undreamed-of  circum- 
stances, which  baffles  all  my  plans  and  resolutions,  and 
seems,  as  it  were,  without  my  sanction  and  my  agency, 
to  be  taking  possession  of  my  destiny  and  life?  I  am 
bewildered,  confounded,  incapable  of  thought  or  deed.' 

His  tumultuous  reverie  was  broken  by  the  sobs  of 
Lady  Bertie. 

'By  heaven,  I  cannot  endure  this!'  said  Tancred, 
advancing.  '  Death  seems  to  me  preferable  to  her  un- 
happiness.     Dearest  of  women!' 

'Do  not  call  me  that,'  she  murmured.  'I  can  bear 
anything  from  your  lips  but  words  of  fondness.  And 
pardon  all  this;  I  am  not  myself  to-day.  I  had  thought 
that  I  had  steeled  myself  to  all,  to  our  inevitable 
separation;  but  I  have  mistaken  myself,  at  least  mis- 
calculated my  strength.  It  is  weak;  it  is  very  weak 
and  very  foolish,  but  you  must  pardon  it.  I  am  too 
much  interested  in  your  career  to  wish  you  to  delay 
your  departure  a  moment  for  my  sake.  I  can  bear 
our  separation,  at  least  I  think  I  can.  I  shall  quit 
the  world,  for  ever.  I  should  have  done  so  had  we 
not  met.  I  was  on  the  point  of  doing  so  when  we 
did  meet,  when,  when  my  dream  was  at  length 
realised.  Go,  go;  do  not  stay.  Bless  you,  and 
write  to  me,  if  I  be  alive  to  receive  your  letters.' 

'1  cannot  leave  her,'  thought  the  harrowed  Tan- 
cred. '  It  never  shall  be  said  of  me  that  I  could 
blight  a  woman's  life,  or  break  her  heart.'  But,  just 
as  he  was  advancing,  the  door  opened,  and  a  servant 
brought  in  a  note,  and,  without  looking  at  Tancred, 
who  had  turned  to  the  window,  disappeared.  The 
desolation  and  despair  which  had  been  impressed  on 
the  countenance  of  Lady  Bertie  and  Bellair  vanished 
in  an    instant,  as   she   recognised   the    handwriting    of 


TANCRED  211 

her  correspondent.  They  were  succeeded  by  an  ex- 
pression of  singular  excitement.  She  tore  open  the 
note;  a  stupor  seemed  to  spread  over  her  features, 
and,  giving  a  faint  shriek,  she  fell  into  a  swoon. 

Tancred  rushed  to  her  side;  she  was  quite  insen- 
sible, and  pale  as  alabaster.  The  note,  which  was 
only  two  lines,  was  open  and  extended  in  her  hands. 
It  was  from  no  idle  curiosity,  but  it  was  impossible 
for  Tancred  not  to  read  it.  He  had  one  of  those  eagle 
visions  that  nothing  could  escape,  and,  himself  ex- 
tremely alarmed,  it  was  the  first  object  at  which  he 
unconsciously  glanced  in  his  agitation  to  discover  the 
cause  and  the  remedy  for  this  crisis.  The  note  ran 
thus: 

' ^  o'clock. 

'  The  'Narrow  Gauge  has  won.  We  are  utterly 
done;  and  Snicks  tells  me  you  bought  Jive  hundred 
more  yesterday,  at  ten.     Is  it  possible  ? 

'  F.' 

'Is  it  possible?'  echoed  Tancred,  as,  entrusting 
Lady  Bertie  to  her  maid,  he  rapidly  descended  the 
staircase  of  her  mansion.  He  almost  ran  to  Davies 
Street,  where  he  jumped  into  a  cab,  not  permitting 
the  driver  to  descend  to  let  him  in. 

'Where  to?'  asked  the  driver. 

'The  city.' 

'What  part?' 

'Never  mind;  near  the  Bank.' 

Alighting  from  the  cab,  Tancred  hurried  to  Sequin 
Court  and  sent  in  his  card  to  Sidonia,  who  in  a  few 
moments  received  him.  As  he  entered  the  great  fi- 
nancier's room,  there  came  out  of  it  the  man  called 
in  Brook  Street  the  Baron. 

'Well,  how  did  your  dinner  go  off?'  said  Sidonia. 


212  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

looking  with  some  surprise  at  the  disturbed  counte- 
nance of  Tancred, 

*  It  seems  very  ridiculous,  very  impertinent  I  fear 
you  will  think  it,'  said  Tancred,  in  a  hesitating  con- 
fused manner,  'but  that  person,  that  person  who  has 
just  left  the  room;  I  have  a  particular  reason,  I  have 
the  greatest  desire,  to  know  who  that  person  is.' 

'That  is  a  French  capitalist,'  replied  Sidonia,  with 
a  slight  smile,  '  an  eminent  French  capitalist,  the 
Baron  Villebecque  de  Chateau  Neuf.  He  wants  me 
to  support  him  in  a  great  railroad  enterprise  in  his 
country:  a  new  line  to  Strasbourg,  and  looks  to  a 
great  traffic,  I  suppose,  in  pasties.  But  this  cannot 
much  interest  you.  What  do  you  want  really  to 
know  about  him  ?  1  can  tell  you  everything.  1  have 
been  acquainted  with  him  for  years.  He  was  the  in- 
tendant  of  Lord  Monmouth,  who  left  him  thirty  thou- 
sand pounds,  and  he  set  up  upon  this  at  Paris  as  a 
millionaire.  He  is  in  the  way  of  becoming  one,  has 
bought  lands,  is  a  deputy  and  a  baron.  He  is  rather 
a  fiivourite  of  mine,'  added  Sidonia,  'and  I  have  been 
able,  perhaps,  to  assist  him,  for  I  knew  him  long  be- 
fore Lord  Monmouth  did,  in  a  very  different  position 
from  that  which  he  now  fills,  though  not  one  for 
which  I  have  less  respect.  He  was  a  fine  comic 
actor  in  the  courtly  parts,  and  the  most  celebrated 
manager  in  Europe;  always  a  fearful  speculator,  but 
he  is  an  honest  fellow,  and  has  a  good  heart.' 

'He  is  a  great  friend  of  Lady  Bertie  and  Bellair,' 
said  Tancred,  rather  hesitatingly. 

'Naturally,'  said  Sidonia. 

'She  also,'  said  Tancred,  with  a  becalmed  counte- 
nance, but  a  palpitating  heart,  'is,  I  believe,  much 
interested  in  railroads?' 


TANCRED  213 

'  She  is  the  most  inveterate  female  gambler  in  Eu- 
rope,' said  Sidonia,  'whatever  shape  her  speculations 
take.  Villebecque  is  a  great  ally  of  hers.  He  always 
had  a  weakness  for  the  English  aristocracy,  and  re- 
members that  he  owed  his  fortune  to  one  of  them. 
Lady  Bertie  was  in  great  tribulation  this  year  at  Paris: 
that  was  the  reason  she  did  not  come  over  before 
Easter;  and  Villebecque  extricated  her  from  a  scrape. 
He  would  assist  her  now  if  he  could.  By-the-bye, 
the  day  that  I  had  the  pleasure  of  making  your  ac- 
quaintance, she  was  here  with  Villebecque,  an  hour 
at  my  door,  but  1  could  not  see  her;  she  pesters  me, 
too,  with  her  letters.  But  I  do  not  like  feminine 
finance.  I  hope  the  worthy  baron  will  be  discreet  in 
his  alliance  with  her,  for  her  affairs,  which  I  know, 
as  I  am  obliged  to  know  every  one's,  happen  to  be 
at  this  moment  most  critical.' 

'I  am  trespassing  on  you,'  said  Tancred,  after  a 
painful  pause,    'but  I  am  about  to  set  sail.' 

'When?' 

'To-morrow;  to-day,  if  I  could;  and  you  were  so 
kind  as  to  promise  me ' 

'  A  letter  of  introduction  and  a  letter  of  credit.  I 
have  not  forgotten,  and  I  will  write  them  for  you  at 
once.'     And  Sidonia  took  up  his  pen  and  wrote: 

A  Letter  of  Introduction, 

To  Alonio  Lara,  Spanish  Prior,  at  the  Convent  of 
Terra  Santa  at  Jerusalem. 

'Most  holy  Father:  The  youth  who  will  deliver 
to  you  this  is  a  pilgrim  who  aspires  to  penetrate  the 
great  Asian  mystery.     Be  to  him   what   you    were  to 


214  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

me;  and  may  the  God  of  Sinai,  in  whom  we  all  be- 
lieve, guard  over  you,  and  prosper  his  enterprise! 

'SiDONIA. 

'London,  May,    1845.' 

'You  can  read  Spanish,'  said  Sidonia,  giving  him 
the  letter.  'The  other  1  shall  write  in  Hebrew,  which 
you  will  soon  read.' 


A  Letter  of  Credit. 

To  Adam  Besso  at  Jerusalem. 

'London,  May,  1845. 
'My  good  Adam:  If  the  youth  who  bears  this  re- 
quire advances,  let  him  have  as  much  gold  as  would 
make  the  right-hand  lion  on  the  first  step  of  the 
throne  of  Solomon  the  king;  and  if  he  want  more,  let 
him  have  as  much  as  would  form  the  lion  that  is  on 
the  left;  and  so  on,  through  every  stair  of  the  royal 
seat.  For  all  which  will  be  responsible  to  you  the 
child  of  Israel,  who  among  the  Gentiles  is  called 

'Sidonia.' 


I 

1 


i 


i)pjf/'''MI904:tnf  U-WaM-fr  Dujtnii. 


AFTER   AN    ORIGINAL    DRAWING    BY   HERMAN    ROUNTREE 


He  zi'iis  about  to  rise. 

(See  page  26.) 


TANCRED 

OR 

The    New    Crusade 


BY 

BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

EARL   OF   BEACONSFIELD 


VOLUME    II. 


M.    WALTER    DUNNE 

NEW  YORK  AND   LONDON 


I 


Copyright,   1904,  by 

M.  WALTER   DUNNE 

Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall.  London 


'i-  X 


nt^ 


CONTENTS 


TANCRED 

OR 

THE   NEW   CRUSADE 

(Continued.) 

Chapter  XXIII.  page 

JERUSALEM    BY    MOONLIGHT I 

Chapter  XXIV. 

A    GATHERING   OF    SAGES 8 

Chapter  XXV. 

GETHSEMANE 1 7 

Chapter  XXVI. 

THE    LADY   OF    BETHANY 22 

Chapter  XXVII. 

FAKREDEEN  AND  THE  ROSE  OF  SHARON  .   .    39 

Chapter  XXVIII. 

BESSO,    THE    BANKER 56 

Chapter  XXIX. 

CAPTURE  OF  THE  NEW  CRUSADER    ...    72 

Chapter  XXX. 

PLANS    FOR    RESCUE    .       , 88 

Chapter  XXXI. 

PARLEYINGS 97 

(vii)    V>^ 


vili  CONTENTS 

Chapter  XXXII.  page 

SUSPENSE no 

Chapter  XXXIII. 

A    PILGRIM    TO    MOUNT   SINAI 1 23 

Chapter  XXXIV. 

IN    THE    VALLEY    OF   THE    SHADOW       .       .       .  I35 

Chapter  XXXV. 

THE    NEW    CRUSADER    IN    PERIL I45 

Chapter  XXXVI. 

THE    angel's    MESSAGE .  1 55 

Chapter  XXXVII. 

fakredeen  is  curious 160 

Chapter  XXXVIII. 

tancred's  recovery 172 

Chapter  XXXIX. 

FREEDOM 184 

Chapter  XL. 

THE    romantic   STORY   OF    BARONI  .       .       .       189 

Chapter  XLI. 

THE   mountains   OF    LEBANON 21 7 

Chapter  XLII. 

strange  ceremonies 22^ 

Chapter  XLIII. 

festivities  in  canobia 235 

Chapter  XLIV. 

fakredeen's  debts 256 

Chapter  XLV. 

the  people  of  ansarey 266 

Chapter  XLVI. 

THE    LAURELLAS 27 1 


CONTENTS  ix 

Chapter  XLVII.  page 

the  feast  of  tabernacles 284 

Chapter  XLVIII. 

EVAS   affianced    BRIDEGROOM        ....  29I 

Chapter  XLIX. 

a  discussion  about  scammony  .  .  .  .  3oi 
Chapter  L. 

the  mysterious  mountains  ....  309 
Chapter  LI. 

ql'een  of  the  ansarey 319 

Chapter  LII. 

A    ROYAL    audience 323 

Chapter  Llll. 

fakredeen's  plots 335 

Chapter  LIV. 

astarte  is  jealous 344 

Chapter  LV. 

capture  of  a  harem 355 

Chapter  LVl. 

EVA    A    captive 364 

Chapter  LVII. 

message  of  the  pasha 375 

Chapter  LVIII. 

three  letters  of  cabala 388 

Chapter  LIX. 

TANCRED    returns    to  JERUSALEM  .       .       .       395 

Chapter  LX. 

the  road  to  bethany 402 

Chapter  LXI. 

ARRIVAL  of  the  DUKE  AND  DUCHESS    .   .   4II 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


HE   WAS    ABOUT   TO   RISE.       (See    page   26)  .      .    Frontispiece 
SHEIKH    HASSAN    SUDDENLY    HURLED    HIS    SPEAR     ...  8^ 

AND    THERE    APPEARED   TO    HIM    A    FORM I57 


(xi) 


TANCRED 

OR 

THE   NEW   CRUSADE 

(  CONTINUED ) 


CHAPTER   XXIII 


ERUSALEM    BY    MOONLIGHT. 

HE  broad  moon  lingers  on  the  sum- 
mit of  Mount  Olivet,  but  its  beam 
has  long  left  the  garden  of  Geth- 
semane  and  the  tomb  of  Absa- 
lom, the  waters  of  Kedron  and  the 
dark  abyss  of  Jehoshaphat.  Full  falls 
its  splendour,  however,  on  the  opposite  city,  vivid 
and  defined  in  its  silver  blaze.  A  lofty  wall,  with 
turrets  and  towers  and  frequent  gates,  undulates  with 
the  unequal  ground  which  it  covers,  as  it  encircles 
the  lost  capital  of  Jehovah.  It  is  a  city  of  hills,  far 
more  famous  than  those  of  Rome:  for  all  Europe  has 
heard  of  Sion  and  of  Calvary,  while  the  Arab  and  the 
Assyrian,  and  the  tribes  and  nations  beyond,  are  as 
ignorant  of  the  Capitolian  and  Aventine  Mounts  as 
they  are  of  the  Malvern  or  the  Chiltern  Hills. 

16    B.  D.-i  ( 1 ) 


2  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

The  broad  steep  of  Sion  crowned  with  the  tower 
of  David;  nearer  still,  Mount  Moriah,  with  the  gor- 
geous temple  of  the  God  of  Abraham,  but  built,  alas! 
by  the  child  of  Hagar,  and  not  by  Sarah's  chosen  one; 
close  to  its  cedars  and  its  cypresses,  its  lofty  spires 
and  airy  arches,  the  moonlight  falls  upon  Bethesda's 
pool;  further  on,  entered  by  the  gate  of  St.  Stephen, 
the  eye,  though  'tis  the  noon  of  night,  traces  with 
ease  the  Street  of  Grief,  a  long  winding  ascent  to  a 
vast  cupolaed  pile  that  now  covers  Calvary,  called  the 
Street  of  Grief  because  there  the  most  illustrious  of 
the  human,  as  well  as  of  the  Hebrew,  race,  the  de- 
scendant of  King  David,  and  the  divine  Son  of  the  most 
favoured  of  women,  twice  sank  under  that  burden  of 
suffering  and  shame  which  is  now  throughout  all 
Christendom  the  emblem  of  triumph  and  of  honour; 
passing  over  groups  and  masses  of  houses  built  of 
stone,  with  terraced  roofs,  or  surmounted  with  small 
domes,  we  reach  the  hill  of  Salem,  where  Melchisedek 
built  his  mystic  citadel;  and  still  remains  the  hill  of 
Scopas,  where  Titus  gazed  upon  Jerusalem  on  the 
eve  of  his  final  assault.  Titus  destroyed  the  temple. 
The  religion  of  Judaea  has  in  turn  subverted  the  fanes 
which  were  raised  to  his  father  and  to  himself  in 
their  imperial  capital;  and  the  God  of  Abraham,  of 
Isaac,  and  of  Jacob  is  now  worshipped  before  every 
altar  in  Rome. 

Jerusalem  by  moonlight!  'Tis  a  fine  spectacle, 
apart  from  all  its  indissoluble  associations  of  awe  and 
beauty.  The  mitigating  hour  softens  the  austerity  of 
a  mountain  landscape  magnificent  in  outline,  however 
harsh  and  severe  in  detail;  and,  while  it  retains  all 
its  sublimity,  removes  much  of  the  savage  sternness 
of  the  strange  and  unrivalled  scene.      A  fortified  city. 


TANCRED  3 

almost  surrounded  by  ravines,  and  rising  in  the  centre 
of  chains  of  far-spreading  hills,  occasionally  offering, 
through  their  rocky  glens,  the  gleams  of  a  distant  and 
richer  land! 

The  moon  has  sunk  behind  the  Mount  of  Olives, 
and  the  stars  in  the  darker  sky  shine  doubly  bright 
over  the  sacred  city.  The  all-pervading  stillness  is 
broken  by  a  breeze  that  seems  to  have  travelled  over 
the  plain  of  Sharon  from  the  sea.  it  wails  among  the 
tombs,  and  sighs  among  the  cypress  groves.  The 
palm-tree  trembles  as  it  passes,  as  if  it  were  a  spirit 
of  woe.  Is  it  the  breeze  that  has  travelled  over  the 
plain  of  Sharon  from  the  sea  ? 

Or  is  it  the  haunting  voice  of  prophets  mourning 
over  the  city  that  they  could  not  save  ?  Their  spirits 
surely  would  linger  on  the  land  where  their  Creator 
had  deigned  to  dwell,  and  over  whose  impending  fate 
Omnipotence  had  shed  human  tears.  From  this 
Mount!  Who  can  but  believe  that,  at  the  midnight 
hour,  from  the  summit  of  the  Ascension,  the  great 
departed  of  Israel  assemble  to  gaze  upon  the  battle- 
ments of  their  mystic  city.?  There  might  be  counted 
heroes  and  sages,  who  need  shrink  from  no  rivalry 
with  the  brightest  and  the  wisest  of  other  lands;  but 
the  lawgiver  of  the  time  of  the  Pharaohs,  whose  laws 
are  still  obeyed;  the  monarch,  whose  reign  has  ceased 
for  three  thousand  years,  but  whose  wisdom  is  a 
proverb  in  all  nations  of  the  earth;  the  teacher,  whose 
doctrines  have  modelled  civilised  Europe;  the  greatest 
of  legislators,  the  greatest  of  administrators,  and  the 
greatest  of  reformers;  what  race,  extinct  or  living, 
can  produce  three  such  men  as  these? 

The  last  light  is  extinguished  in  the  village  of 
Bethany.     The  wailing  breeze  has  become  a  moaning 


4  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

wind;  a  white  film  spreads  over  the  purple  sky;  the 
stars  are  veiled,  the  stars  are  hid;  all  becomes  as  dark 
as  the  waters  of  Kedron  and  the  valley  of  Jehosha- 
phat.  The  tower  of  David  merges  into  obscurity;  no 
longer  glitter  the  minarets  of  the  mosque  of  Omar; 
Bethesda's  angelic  waters,  the  gate  of  Stephen,  the 
street  of  sacred  sorrow,  the  hill  of  Salem,  and  the 
heights  of  Scopas  can  no  longer  be  discerned.  Alone 
in  the  increasing  darkness,  while  the  very  line  of  the 
walls  gradually  eludes  the  eye,  the  Church  of  the 
Holy  Sepulchre  is  a  beacon  light. 

And  why  is  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  a 
beacon  light.?  Why,  when  is  it  already  past  the  noon 
of  darkness,  when  every  soul  slumbers  in  Jerusalem, 
and  not  a  sound  disturbs  the  deep  repose,  except  the 
howl  of  the  wild  dog  crying  to  the  wilder  wind; 
why  is  the  cupola  of  the  sanctuary  illumined,  though 
the  hour  has  long  since  been  numbered  when  pil- 
grims there  kneel  and  monks  pray? 

An  armed  Turkish  guard  are  bivouacked  in  the 
court  of  the  Church;  within  the  Church  itself,  two 
brethren  of  the  convent  of  Terra  Santa  keep  holy 
watch  and  ward;  while,  at  the  tomb  beneath,  there 
kneels  a  solitary  youth,  who  prostrated  himself  at 
sunset,  and  who  will  there  pass  unmoved  the  whole 
of  the  sacred  night. 

Yet  the  pilgrim  is  not  in  communion  with  the 
Latin  Church;  neither  is  he  of  the  Church  Armenian, 
or  the  Church  Greek;  Maronite,  Coptic,  or  Abyssin- 
ian; these  also  are  Christian  churches  which  cannot 
call  him  child. 

He  comes  from  a  distant  and  a  northern  isle  to 
bow  before  the  tomb  of  a  descendant  of  the  kings  of 
Israel,  because   he,  in  common  with  all  the  people  of 


TANCRED  5 

that  isle,  recognises  in  that  sublime  Hebrew  incarna- 
tion the  presence  of  a  Divine  Redeemer.  Then  why 
does  he  come  alone  ?  It  is  not  that  he  has  availed 
himself  of  the  inventions  of  modern  science  to  repair 
first  to  a  spot  which  all  his  countrymen  may  equally 
desire  to  visit,  and  thus  anticipate  their  hurrying  ar- 
rival. Before  the  inventions  of  modern  science,  all  his 
countrymen  used  to  flock  hither.  Then  why  do  they 
not  now?  Is  the  Holy  Land  no  longer  hallowed ?  Is 
it  not  the  land  of  sacred  and  mysterious  truths  ?  The 
land  of  heavenly  messages  and  earthly  miracles?  The 
land  of  prophets  and  apostles?  Is  it  not  the  land 
upon  whose  mountains  the  Creator  of  the  Universe 
parleyed  with  man,  and  the  flesh  of  whose  anointed 
race  He  mystically  assumed,  when  He  struck  the  last 
blow  at  the  powers  of  evil?  Is  it  to  be  believed 
that  there  are  no  peculiar  and  eternal  qualities  in  a 
land  thus  visited,  which  distinguish  it  from  all  others? 
That  Palestine  is  like  Normandy  or  Yorkshire,  or  even 
Attica  or  Rome. 

There  may  be  some  who  maintain  this;  there  have 
been  some,  and  those,  too,  among  the  wisest  and  the 
wittiest  of  the  northern  and  western  races,  who, 
touched  by  a  presumptuous  jealousy  of  the  long  pre- 
dominance of  that  oriental  intellect  to  which  they 
owed  their  civilisation,  would  have  persuaded  them- 
selves and  the  world  that  the  traditions  of  Sinai  and 
Calvary  were  fables.  Half  a  century  ago,  Europe 
made  a  violent  and  apparently  successful  effort  to  dis- 
embarrass itself  of  its  Asian  faith.  The  most  power- 
ful and  the  most  civilised  of  its  kingdoms,  about  to 
conquer  the  rest,  shut  up  its  churches,  desecrated  its 
altars,  massacred  and  persecuted  their  sacred  serv- 
ants,   and    announced    that  the  Hebrew  creeds  which 


6  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

Simon  Peter  brought  from  Palestine,  and  which  his 
successors  revealed  to  Clovis,  were  a  mockery  and  a 
fiction.  What  has  been  the  result?  in  every  city, 
town,  village,  and  hamlet  of  that  great  kingdom,  the 
divine  image  of  the  most  illustrious  of  Hebrews  has 
been  again  raised  amid  the  homage  of  kneeling  mil- 
lions; while,  in  the  heart  of  its  bright  and  witty  cap- 
ital, the  nation  has  erected  the  most  gorgeous  of 
modern  temples,  and  consecrated  its  marble  and 
golden  walls  to  the  name,  and  memory,  and  celestial 
efficacy  of  a  Hebrew  woman. 

The  country  of  which  the  solitary  pilgrim,  kneel- 
ing at  this  moment  at  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  was  a  na- 
tive, had  not  actively  shared  in  that  insurrection 
against  the  first  and  second  Testament  which  dis- 
tinguished the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century.  But, 
more  than  six  hundred  years  before,  it  had  sent  its 
king,  and  the  flower  of  its  peers  and  people,  to  res- 
cue Jerusalem  from  those  whom  they  considered  infi- 
dels! and  now,  instead  of  the  third  crusade,  they 
expend  their  superfluous  energies  in  the  construction 
of  railroads. 

The  failure  of  the  European  kingdom  of  Jerusalem, 
on  which  such  vast  treasure,  such  prodigies  of  valour, 
and  such  ardent  belief  had  been  wasted,  has  been  one 
of  those  circumstances  which  have  tended  to  disturb 
the  faith  of  Europe,  although  it  should  have  carried 
convictions  of  a  very  different  character.  The  Crusad- 
ers looked  upon  the  Saracens  as  infidels,  whereas 
the  children  of  the  desert  bore  a  much  nearer  affinity 
to  the  sacred  corpse  that  had,  for  a  brief  space,  con- 
secrated the  Holy  Sepulchre,  than  any  of  the  invading 
host  of  Europe.  The  same  blood  flowed  in  their 
veins,  and  they  recognised   the   divine   missions    both 


TANCRED  7 

of  Moses  and  of  his  great  successor.  In  an  age  so 
deficient  in  physiological  learning  as  the  twelfth  cen- 
tury, the  mysteries  of  race  were  unknown.  Jerusa- 
lem, it  cannot  be  doubted,  will  ever  remain  the 
appanage  either  of  Israel  or  of  Ishmael;  and  if,  in  the 
course  of  those  great  vicissitudes  which  are  no  doubt 
impending  for  the  East,  there  be  any  attempt  to  place 
upon  the  throne  of  David  a  prince  of  the  House  of 
Coburg  or  Deuxponts,  the  same  fate  will  doubtless 
await  him  as,  with  all  their  brilliant  qualities  and  all 
the  sympathy  of  Europe,  was  the  final  doom  of  the 
Godfreys,  the  Baldwins,  and  the  Lusignans. 

Like  them,  the  ancestor  of  the  kneeling  pilgrim 
had  come  to  Jerusalem  with  his  tall  lance  and  his 
burnished  armour;  but  his  descendant,  though  not  less 
daring  and  not  less  full  of  faith,  could  profit  by  the 
splendid  but  fruitless  achievements  of  the  first  Tancred 
de  Montacute.  Our  hero  came  on  this  new  crusade 
with  an  humble  and  contrite  spirit,  to  pour  forth  his 
perplexities  and  sorrows  on  the  tomb  of  his  Re- 
deemer, and  to  ask  counsel  of  the  sacred  scenes  which 
the  presence  of  that  Redeemer  and  his  great  prede- 
cessors had  consecrated. 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 
A  Gathering  of  Sages. 

EAR  the  gate  of  Sion  there  is  a 
small,  still,  hilly  street,  the  houses 
of  which,  as  is  general  in  the  East, 
present  to  the  passenger,  with  the 
exception  of  an  occasional  portal, 
only  blank  walls,  built,  as  they  are 
at  Jerusalem,  of  stone,  and  very  lofty.  These  walls 
commonly  enclose  a  court,  and,  though  their  exterior 
offers  always  a  sombre  and  often  squalid  appearance, 
it  by  no  means  follows  that  within  you  may  not  be 
welcomed  with  cheerfulness  and  even  luxury. 

At  this  moment  a  man  in  the  Syrian  dress,  turban 
and  flowing  robe,  is  passing  through  one  of  the 
gateways  of  this  street,  and  entering  the  large  quad- 
rangle to  which  it  leads.  It  is  surrounded  by  arcades; 
on  one  side  indications  of  commerce,  piles  of  chests, 
cases,  and  barrels;  the  other  serving  for  such  simple 
stables  as  are  sufficient  in  the  East.  Crossing  this 
quadrangle,  the  stranger  passed  by  a  corridor  into  a 
square  garden  of  orange  and  lemon  trees  and  foun- 
tains. This  garden  court  was  surrounded  by  inhab- 
ited chambers,  and,  at  the  end  of  it,  passing  through 
a  low  arch  at  the  side,  and  then  mounting  a  few 
(8) 


TANCRED  9 

steps,  he  was  at  once  admitted  into  a  spacious  and 
stately  chamber.  Its  lofty  ceiling  was  vaulted  and 
lightly  painted  in  arabesque;  its  floor  was  of  white 
marble,  varied  with  mosaics  of*  fruit  and  flowers;  it 
was  panelled  with  cedar,  and  in  six  of  the  principal 
panels  were  Arabic  inscriptions  emblazoned  in  blue 
and  gold.  At  the  top  of  this  hall,  and  ranging  down 
its  two  sides,  was  a  divan  or  seat,  raised  about  one 
foot  from  the  ground,  and  covered  with  silken  cush- 
ions; and  the  marble  floor  before  this  divan  was 
spread  at  intervals  with  small   bright   Persian  carpets. 

In  this  chamber  some  half  dozen  persons  were 
seated  in  the  Eastern  fashion,  and  smoking  either  the 
choice  tobaccoes  of  Syria  through  the  cherry-wood  or 
jasmine  tube  of  a  Turkish  or  Egyptian  chibouque,  or 
inhaling  through  rose-water  the  more  artificial  flavour 
of  the  nargileh,  which  is  the  hookah  of  the  Levant. 
If  a  guest  found  his  pipe  exhausted,  he  clapped  his 
hands,  and  immediately  a  negro  page  appeared, 
dressed  in  scarlet  or  in  white,  and,  learning  his  pleas- 
ure, returned  in  a  few  moments,  and  bowing  pre- 
sented him  with  a  fresh  and  illumined  chibouque. 
At  intervals,  these  attendants  appeared  without  a 
summons,  and  offered  cups  of  Mocha  coffee  or  vases 
of  sherbet. 

The  lord  of  this  divan,  who  was  seated  at  the 
upper  end  of  the  room,  reclining  on  embroidered 
cushions  of  various  colours,  and  using  a  nargileh  of 
fine  workmanship,  was  a  man  much  above  the  com- 
mon height,  being  at  least  six  feet  two  without  his 
red  cap  of  Fez,  though  so  well  proportioned,  that  you 
would  not  at  the  first  glance  give  him  credit  for  such 
a  stature.  He  was  extremely  handsome,  retaining 
ample  remains  of  one  of  those  countenances  of  blended 


lo  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

regularity  and  lustre  which  are  found  only  in  the 
cradle  of  the  human  race.  Though  he  was  fifty  years 
of  age,  time  had  scarcely  brought  a  wrinkle  to  his 
still  brilliant  complexion,  while  his  large,  soft,  dark 
eyes,  his  arched  brow,  his  well-proportioned  nose,  his 
small  mouth  and  oval  cheek  presented  altogether  one 
of  those  faces  which,  in  spite  of  long  centuries  of 
physical  suffering  and  moral  degradation,  still  haunt 
the  cities  of  Asia  Minor,  the  isles  of  Greece,  and  the 
Syrian  coasts.  It  is  the  archetype  of  manly  beauty, 
the  tradition  of  those  races  who  have  wandered  the 
least  from  Paradise;  and  who,  notwithstanding  many 
vicissitudes  and  much  misery,  are  still  acted  upon  by 
the  same  elemental  agencies  as  influenced  the  Patri- 
archs; are  warmed  by  the  same  sun,  freshened  by  the 
same  air,  and  nourished  by  the  same  earth  as  cheered 
and  invigorated  and  sustained  the  earlier  generations. 
The  costume  of  the  East  certainly  does  not  exaggerate 
the  fatal  progress  of  time;  if  a  figure  becomes  too 
portly,  the  flowing  robe  conceals  the  incumbrance 
which  is  aggravated  by  a  western  dress;  he,  too, 
who  wears  a  turban  has  little  dread  of  grey  hairs;  a 
grizzly  beard  indeed  has  few  charms,  but  whether  it 
were  the  lenity  of  time  or  the  skill  of  his  barber  in 
those  arts  in  which  Asia  is  as  experienced  as  Europe, 
the  beard  of  the  master  of  the  divan  became  the  rest 
of  his  appearance,  and  flowed  to  his  waist  in  rich 
dark  curls,  lending  additional  dignity  to  a  countenance 
of  which  the  expression  was  at  the  same  time  grand 
and  benignant. 

Upon  the  right  of  the  master  of  the  divan  was, 
smoking  a  jasmine  pipe,  Scheriff  Effendi,  an  Egyptian 
merchant,  of  Arab  race,  a  dark  face  in  a  white  tur- 
ban, mild  and  imperturbable,  and  seated    as   erect   on 


TANCRED  II 

his  crossed  legs  as  if  he  were  administering  justice;  a 
remarkable  contrast  to  the  individual  who  was  on  the 
left  of  the  host,  who  might  have  been  mistaken  for  a 
mass  of  brilliant  garments  huddled  together,  had  not 
the  gurgling  sound  of  the  nargileh  occasionally  assured 
the  spectator  that  it  was  animated  by  human  breath. 
This  person  was  apparently  lying  on  his  back,  his 
face  hid,  his  form  not  to  be  traced,  a  wild  confusion 
of  shawls  and  cushions,  out  of  which,  like  some  wily 
and  dangerous  reptile,  glided  the  spiral  involutions  of 
his  pipe.  Next  to  the  invisible  sat  a  little  wiry  man 
with  a  red  nose,  sparkling  eyes,  and  a  white  beard. 
His  black  turban  intimated  that  he  was  a  Hebrew, 
and  indeed  he  was  well  known  as  Barizy  of  the 
Tower,  a  description  which  he  had  obtained  from  his 
residence  near  the  Tower  of  David,  and  which  dis- 
tinguished him  from  his  cousin,  who  was  called 
Barizy  of  the  Gate.  Further  on  an  Armenian  from 
Stamboul,  in  his  dark  robes  and  black  protuberant 
head-dress,  resembling  a  colossal  truffle,  solaced  him- 
self with  a  cherry  stick  which  reminded  him  of  the 
Bosphorus,  and  he  found  a  companion  in  this  fashion 
in  the  young  officer  of  a  French  brig-of-war  an- 
chored at  Beiroot,  and  who  had  obtained  leave  to 
visit  the  Holy  Land,  as  he  was  anxious  to  see  the 
women  of  Bethlehem,  of  whose  beauty  he  had  heard 
much. 

As  the  new  comer  entered  the  hall,  he  shuffled  off 
his  slippers  at  the  threshold,  and  then  advancing,  and 
pressing  a  hand  to  his  brow,  his  mouth  and  his  heart, 
a  salutation  which  signifies  that  in  thought,  speech, 
and  feeling  he  was  faithful  to  his  host,  and  which 
salutation  was  immediately  returned,  he  took  his  seat 
upon  the  divan,   and  the  master   of  the    house,  letting 


12  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

the  flexible  tube  of  his  nargileh  fall  on  one  of  the 
cushions,  and  clapping  his  hands,  a  page  immediately 
brought  a  pipe  to  the  new  guest.  This  was  Signor 
Pasqualigo,  one  of  those  noble  Venetian  names  that 
every  now  and  then  turn  up  in  the  Levant,  and  borne 
in  the  present  case  by  a  descendant  of  a  family  who 
for  centuries  had  enjoyed  a  monopoly  of  some  of  the 
smaller  consular  offices  of  the  Syrian  coast.  Signor 
Pasqualigo  had  installed  his  son  as  deputy  in  the  am- 
biguous agency  at  Jaffa,  which  he  described  as  a  vice- 
consulate,  and  himself  principally  resided  at  Jerusalem, 
of  which  he  was  the  prime  gossip,  or  second  only  to 
his  rival,  Barizy  of  the  Tower.  He  had  only  taken  a 
preliminary  puff  of  his  chibouque,  to  be  convinced 
that  there  was  no  fear  of  its  being  extinguished,  before 
he  said, 

'So  there  was  a  fine  pilgrimage  last  night;  the 
Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  lighted  up  from  sunset 
to  sunrise,  an  extra  guard  in  the  court,  and  only  the 
Spanish  prior  and  two  brethren  permitted  to  enter. 
It  must  be  10,000  piastres  at  least  in  the  coffers  of 
the  Terra  Santa.  Well,  they  want  something!  It 
is  a  long  time  since  we  have  had  a  Latin  pilgrim  in 
El  Khuds.' 

'And  they  say,  after  all,  that  this  was  not  a  Latin 
pilgrim,'  said  Barizy  of  the  Tower. 

'He  could  not  have  been  one  of  my  people,'  said 
the  Armenian,  'or  he  never  would  have  gone  to  the 
Holy  Sepulchre  with  the  Spanish  prior.' 

'Had  he  been  one  of  your  people,'  said  Pasqua- 
ligo, 'he  could  not  have  paid  10,000  piastres  for  a  pil- 
grimage.' 

'1  am  sure  a  Greek  never  would,'  said  Barizy,  'un- 
less he  were  a  Russian  prince.' 


TANCRED  13 

'And  a  Russian  does  not  care  much  for  rosa- 
ries unless  tiiey  are  made  of  diamonds,'  said  Pas- 
qualigo. 

'As  far  as  I  can  make  out  this  morning,'  said 
Barizy  of  the  Tower,  'it  is  a  brother  of  the  Queen  of 
England.' 

'I  was  thinking  it  might  be  that,'  said  Pasqualigo, 
nettled  at  his  rival's  early  information,  'the  moment 
I  heard  he  was  an  Englishman.' 

'The  English  do  not  believe  in  the  Holy  Sepul- 
chre,' said  the  Armenian,  calmly. 

'They  do  not  believe  in  our  blessed  Saviour,'  said 
Pasqualigo,  'but  they  do  believe  in  the  Holy  Sepul- 
chre.' 

Pasqualigo's  strong  point  was  theology,  and  there 
were  few  persons  in  Jerusalem  who  on  this  head  ven- 
tured to  maintain  an  argument  with  him. 

'  How  do  you  know  that  the  pilgrim  is  an  English- 
man.?' asked  their  host. 

'Because  his  servants  told  me  so,' said  Pasqualigo. 

'  He  has  got  an  English  general  for  the  principal 
officer  of  his  household,'  said  Barizy,  'which  looks 
like  blood  royal;  a  very  fine  man,  who  passes  the 
whole  day  at  the  English  consulate.* 

'They  have  taken  a  house  in  the  Via  Dolorosa,' 
said  Pasqualigo. 

'  Of  Hassan  Nejed  ? '  continued  Barizy  of  the  Tower, 
clutching  the  words  out  of  his  rival's  grasp;  'Hassan 
asked  five  thousand  piastres  per  month,  and  they  gave 
it.     What  think  you  of  that.?' 

'He  must  indeed  be  an  Englishman,'  said  Scheriff 
Effendi,  taking  his  pipe  slowly  from  his  mouth. 
There  was  a  dead  silence  when  he  spoke;  he  was 
much  respected. 


14  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'He  is  very  young,'  said  Barizy  of  tiie  Tower; 
'younger  than  the  Queen,  which  is  one  reason  why 
he  is  not  on  the  throne,  for  in  England  the  eldest 
always  succeeds,  except  in  moveables,  and  those  al- 
ways go  to  the  youngest.' 

Barizy  of  the  Tower,  though  he  gave  up  to  Pas- 
qualigo  in  theology,  partly  from  delicacy,  being  a  Jew, 
would  yield  to  no  man  in  Jerusalem  in  his  knowl- 
edge of  law. 

'If  he  goes  on  at  this  rate,'  said  the  Armenian, 
'he  will  soon  spend  all  his  money;  this  place  is 
dearer  than  Stamboul.' 

'There  is  no  fear  of  his  spending  all  his  money,' 
said  their  host,  'for  the  young  man  has  brought  me 
such  a  letter  that  if  he  were  to  tell  me  to  rebuild  the 
temple,  I  must  do  it.' 

'And  who  is  this  young  man,  Besso?'  exclaimed 
the  Invisible,  starting  up,  and  himself  exhibiting  a 
youthful  countenance;  fair,  almost  effeminate,  no 
beard,  a  slight  moustache,  his  features  too  delicate, 
but  his  brow  finely  arched,  and  his  blue  eye  glitter- 
ing with  fire. 

'He  is  an  English  lord,'  said  Besso,  'and  one  of 
the  greatest;  that  is  all  I  know.' 

'And  why  does  he  come  here.?'  inquired  the 
youth.     'The  English  do  not  make  pilgrimages.' 

'Yet  you  have  heard  what  he  has  done.' 

'  And  why  is  this  silent  Frenchman  smoking  your 
Latakia,'  he  continued  in  a  low  voice.  'He  comes 
to  Jerusalem  at  the  same  time  as  this  Englishman. 
There  is  more  in  this  than  meets  our  eye.  You  do 
not  know  the  northern  nations.  They  exist  only  in 
political  combinations.  You  are  not  a  politician,  my 
Besso.     Depend  upon  it,  we   shall    hear   more  of  this 


TANCRED  15 

Englishman,  and  of  his  doing  something  else  than 
praying  at  the  Holy  Sepulchre.' 

'  It  may  be  so,  most  noble  Emir,  but  as  you  say, 
I  am  no  politician.' 

'Would  that  you  were,  my  Besso!  It  would  be 
well  for  you  and  for  all  of  us.  See  now,'  he  added 
in  a  whisper,  'that  apparently  inanimate  mass,  ScherifT 
Effendi — that  man  has  a  political  head,  he  under- 
stands a  combination,  he  is  going  to  smuggle  me 
five  thousand  English  muskets  into  the  desert,  he 
will  deliver  them  to  a  Bedouin  tribe,  who  have 
engaged  to  convey  them  safely  to  the  Mountain. 
There,  what  do  you  think  of  that,  my  Besso  ?  Do  you 
know  now  what  are  politics  ?  Tell  the  Rose  of 
Sharon  of  it.  She  will  say  it  is  beautiful.  Ask  the 
Rose  what  she  thinks  of  it,  my  Besso.' 

'Well,  I  shall  see  her  to-morrow.' 

'I  have  done  well;  have  I  not?' 

'You  are  satisfied;  that  is  well.' 

'Not  quite,  my  Besso;  but  I  can  be  satisfied  if 
you  please.  You  see  that  ScherifT  Effendi  there,  sit- 
ting like  an  Afrite;  he  will  not  give  me  the  muskets 
unless  I  pay  him  for  them;  and  the  Bedouin  chief, 
he  will  not  carry  the  arms  unless  1  give  him  10,000 
piastres.  Now,  if  you  will  pay  these  people  for  me, 
my  Besso,  and  deduct  the  expenses  from  my  Leba- 
non loan  when  it  is  negotiated,  that  would  be  a 
great  service.  Now,  now,  my  Besso,  shall  it  be 
done?'  he  continued  with  the  coaxing  voice  and  with 
the  wheedling  manner  of  a  girl.  'You  shall  have 
any  terms  you  like,  and  1  will  always  love  you  so, 
my  Besso.  Let  it  be  done,  let  it  be  done!  I  will  go 
down  on  my  knees  and  kiss  your  hand  before  the 
Frenchman,  which  will  spread  your  fame  throughout 


i6  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

Europe,  and  make  Louis  Philippe  take  you  for  the 
first  man  in  Syria,  if  you  will  do  it  for  me.  Dear, 
dear  Besso,  you  will  pay  that  old  camel  Scheriff  Ef- 
fendi  for  me,  will  you  not?  and  please  the  Rose  of 
Sharon  as  much  as  me!' 

'My  prince,'  said  Besso,  'have  a  fresh  pipe;  I 
never  can  transact  business  after  sunset.' 

The  reader  will  remember  that  Sidonia  had  given 
Tancred  a  letter  of  credit  on  Besso.  He  is  the  same 
Besso  who  was  the  friend  at  Jerusalem  of  Contarini 
Fleming,  and  this  is  the  same  chamber  in  which 
Contarini,  his  host,  and  others  who  were  present,  in- 
scribed one  night,  before  their  final  separation,  certain 
sentences  in  the  panels  of  the  walls.  The  original 
writing  remains,  but  Besso,  as  we  have  already  seen, 
has  had  the  sentences  emblazoned  in  a  manner  more 
permanent  and  more  striking  to  the  eye.  They  may, 
however,  be  both  seen  by  all  those  who  visit  Jerusa- 
lem, and  who  enjoy  the  flowing  hospitality  and  expe- 
rience the  boundless  benevolence  of  this  prince  of 
Hebrew  merchants. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

Gethsemane. 

t  HE  Christian  convents  form  one  of 
the  most  remarkable  features  of 
modern  Jerusalem.  There  are  three 
principal  ones;  the  Latin  Convent 
of  Terra  Santa,  founded,  it  is  be- 
lieved, during  the  last  crusade,  and 
richly  endowed  by  the  kings  of  Christendom;  the  Ar- 
menian and  the  Greek  convents,  whose  revenues  are 
also  considerable,  but  derived  from  the  numerous  pil- 
grims of  their  different  churches,  who  annually  visit 
the  Holy  Sepulchre,  and  generally  during  their  sojourn 
reside  within  the  walls  of  their  respective  religious 
houses.  To  be  competent  to  supply  such  accommo- 
dation, it  will  easily  be  apprehended  that  they  are  of 
considerable  size.  They  are  in  truth  monastic  estab- 
lishments of  the  first  class,  as  large  as  citadels,  and 
almost  as  strong.  Lofty  stone  walls  enclose  an  area 
of  acres,  in  the  centre  of  which  rises  an  irregular 
mass  of  buildings  and  enclosures;  courts  of  all  shapes, 
galleries  of  cells,  roofs,  terraces,  gardens,  corridors, 
churches,  houses,  and  even  streets.  Sometimes  as 
many  as  five  thousand  pilgrims  have  been  lodged, 
fed,  and  tended  during  Easter  in  one  of  these  con- 
vents. 

16  B.  D.— 2  ( 17 ) 


i8  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

Not  in  that  of  Terra  Santa,  of  which  a  Protestant 
traveller,  passing  for  a  pilgrim,  is  often  the  only  annual 
guest;  as  Tancred  at  present.  In  a  whitewashed  cell, 
clean,  and  sufficiently  airy  and  spacious,  Tancred  was 
lying  on  an  iron  bedstead,  the  only  permanent  furniture 
of  the  chamber,  with  the  exception  of  a  crucifix,  but 
well  suited  to  the  fervent  and  procreative  clime.  He 
was  smoking  a  Turkish  pipe,  which  stretched  nearly 
across  the  apartment,  and  his  Italian  attendant,  Baroni, 
on  one  knee,  was  arranging  the  bowl. 

'  I  begin  rather  to  like  it,'  said  Tancred. 

'  1  am  sure  you  would,  my  lord.  In  this  country 
it  is  like  mother's  milk,  nor  is  it  possible  to  make 
way  without  it.  'Tis  the  finest  tobacco  of  Latakia, 
the  choicest  in  the  world,  and  I  have  smoked  all.  I 
begged  it  myself  from  Signor  Besso,  whose  divan  is 
renowned,  the  day  I  called  on  him  with  your  lord- 
ship's letter.' 

Saying  this,  Baroni  quickly  rose  (a  man  from  thirty- 
two  to  thirty-five) ;  rather  under  the  middle  height, 
slender,  lithe,  and  pliant;  a  long  black  beard,  cleared 
off  his  chin  when  in  Europe,  and  concealed  under  his 
cravat,  but  always  ready  for  the  Orient;  whiskers 
closely  shaved  but  strongly  marked,  sallow,  an  aquiline 
nose,  white  teeth,  a  sparkling  black  eye.  His  cos- 
tume entirely  white,  fashion  Mamlouk,  that  is  to  say, 
trousers  of  a  prodigious  width,  and  a  light  jacket;  a 
white  shawl  wound  round  his  waist,  enclosing  his 
dagger;  another  forming  his  spreading  turban.  Tem- 
perament, remarkable  vivacity  modified  by  extraordi- 
nary   experience. 

Availing  himself  of  the  previous  permission  of  his 
master,  Baroni,  having  arranged  the  pipe,  seated  him- 
self cross-legged  on  the  floor. 


TANCRED  19 

'And  what  are  they  doing  about  the  house?'  in- 
quired Tancred. 

'They  will  be  all  stowed  to-day,'  replied  Baroni. 

'1  shall  not  quit  this  place,' said  Tancred;  'I  wish 
to  be  quite  undisturbed.' 

'Be  not  alarmed,  my  lord;  they  are  amused.  The 
colonel  never  quits  the  consulate;  dines  there  every 
day,  and  tells  stories  about  the  Peninsular  war  and 
the  Bellamont  cavalry,  just  as  he  did  on  board.  Mr. 
Bernard  is  always  with  the  English  bishop,  who  is 
delighted  to  have  an  addition  to  his  congregation, 
which  is  not  too  much,  consisting  of  his  own  family, 
the  English  and  Prussian  consuls,  and  five  Jews, 
whom  they  have  converted  at  twenty  piastres  a- week; 
but  1  know  they  are  going  to  strike  for  wages.  As 
for  the  doctor,  he  has  not  a  minute  to  himself  The 
governor's  wife  has  already  sent  for  him;  he  has  been 
admitted  to  the  harem;  has  felt  all  their  pulses  with- 
out seeing  any  of  their  f^ices,  and  his  medicine  chest 
is  in  danger  of  being  exhausted  before  your  lordship 
requires  its  aid.' 

'Take  care  that  they  are  comfortable,'  said  Tancred. 

'And  what  does  your  lordship  wish  to  do  to- 
day ?' 

*I  must  go  to  Gethsemane.' 

"Tis  the  shot  of  an  arrow;  go  out  by  the  gate  of 
Sion,  pass  through  the  Turkish  cemetery,  cross  the 
Kedron,  which  is  so  dry  this  weather  that  you  may 
do  so  in  your  slippers,  and  you  will  find  the  remnant 
of  an  olive  grove  at  the  base  of  the  mount.' 

'You  talk  as  if  you  were  giving  a  direction  in 
London.' 

'  I  wish  1  knew  London  as  well  as  I  know  Jeru- 
salem!    This  is  not  a  very  great  place,  and  1  think  I 


20  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

have  been  here  twenty  times.  Why,  I  made  eight 
visits  here  in  '40  and  '41;  twice  from  England,  and 
six  times  from  Egypt.' 

'Active  work!' 

'Ah!  those  were  times!  If  the  Pasha  had  taken 
M.  de  Sidonia's  advice,  in  '41,  something  would  have 

happened    in   this    city '     And  here  Baroni  pulled 

up:   'Your  lordship's  pipe  draws  easy?' 

'Very  well.  And  when  was  your  first  visit  here, 
Baroni  ? ' 

'  When  M.  de  Sidonia  travelled.  I  came  in  his 
suite  from  Naples,  eighteen  years  ago,  the  next  An- 
nunciation of  our  blessed  Lady,'  and  he  crossed  him- 
self. 

'You  must  have  been  very  young  then?' 

'  Young  enough;  but  it  was  thought,  I  suppose, 
that  I  could  light  a  pipe.  We  were  seven  when  we 
left  Naples,  all  picked  men;  but  1  was  the  only  one 
who  was  in  Paraguay  with  M.  de  Sidonia,  and  that 
was  nearly  the  end  of  our  travels,  which  lasted  five 
years.' 

'  And  what  became  of  the  rest  ? ' 

'Got  ill  or  got  stupid;  no  mercy  in  either  case 
with  M.  de  Sidonia,  packed  off  instantly,  wherever 
you  may  be;  whatever  money  you  like,  but  go  you 
must.  If  you  were  in  the  middle  of  the  desert,  and 
the  least  grumbling,  you  would  be  spliced  on  a 
camel,  and  a  Bedouin  tribe  would  be  hired  to  take 
you  to  the  nearest  city,  Damascus  or  Jerusalem,  or 
anywhere,  with  an  order  on  Signor  Besso,  or  some 
other  signor,  to  pay  them.' 

'And  you  were  never  invalided?' 

'Never;  I  was  young  and  used  to  tumble  about  as 
long  as  I  can  remember  day;  but  it  was   sharp   prac- 


TANCRED  21 

tice  sometimes;  five  years  of  such  work  as  few  men 
have  been  through.  It  educated  me  and  opened  my 
mind  amazingly.' 

'  It  seems  to  have  done  so,'  said  Tancred,  quietly. 

Shortly  after  this,  Tancred,  attended  by  Baroni, 
passed  the  gate  of  Sion.  Not  a  human  being  was 
visible,  except  the  Turkish  sentries.  It  was  mid- 
summer, but  no  words  and  no  experience  of  other 
places  can  convey  an  idea  of  the  canicular  heat  of 
Jerusalem,  Bengal,  Egypt,  even  Nubia,  are  nothing 
to  it;  in  these  countries  there  are  rivers,  trees,  shade, 
and  breezes;  but  Jerusalem  at  midday  in  midsummer 
is  a  city  of  stone  in  a  land  of  iron  with  a  sky  of 
brass.  The  wild  glare  and  savage  lustre  of  the  land- 
scape are  themselves  awful.  We  have  all  read  of  the 
man  who  had  lost  his  shadow;  this  is  a  shadowless 
world.  Everything  is  so  flaming  and  so  clear,  that 
it  would  remind  one  of  a  Chinese  painting,  but  that 
the  scene  is  one  too  bold  and  wild  for  the  imagi- 
nation of  the  Mongol  race. 

'  There,'  said  Baroni,  pointing  to  a  group  of  most 
ancient  olive  trees  at  the  base  of  the  opposite  hill, 
and  speaking  as  if  he  were  showing  the  way  to 
Kensington,  'there  is  Gethsemane;  the  path  to  the 
right  leads  to  Bethany.' 

'Leave  me  now,'  said  Tancred. 

There  are  moments  when  we  must  be  alone,  and 
Tancred  had  fixed  upon  this  hour  for  visiting  Gethsem- 
ane, because  he  felt  assured  that  no  one  would  be 
stirring.  Descending  Mount  Sion,  and  crossing  Kedron, 
he  entered  the  sacred  grove. 


CHAPTER     XXVI. 


The  Lady  of  Bethany. 

HE  sun  had  been  declining  for  some 
hours,  the  glare  of  the  earth  had 
subsided,  the  fervour  of  the  air 
was  allayed.  A  caravan  came 
winding  round  the  hills,  with  many 
camels  and  persons  in  rich,  bright 
Syrian  dresses;  a  congregation  that  had  assembled  at 
the  Church  of  the  Ascension  on  Mount  Olivet  had 
broken  up,  and  the  side  of  the  hill  was  studded  with 
brilliant  and  picturesque  groups;  the  standard  of  the 
Crescent  floated  on  the  Tower  of  David;  there  was 
the  clang  of  Turkish  music,  and  the  governor  of  the 
city,  with  a  numerous  cavalcade,  might  be  discerned 
on  Mount  Moriah,  caracoling  without  the  walls;  a 
procession  of  women  bearing  classic  vases  on  their 
heads,  who  had  been  fetching  the  waters  of  Siloah 
from  the  well  of  Job,  came  up  the  valley  of  Jehosha- 
phat,  to  wind  their  way  to  the  gate  of  Stephen  and 
enter  Jerusalem  by  the  street  of  Calvary. 

Tancred  came  forth  from  the  garden  of  Gethsemane, 
his  face  was  flushed  with  the  rapt  stillness  of  pious 
ecstasy;  hours  had  vanished  during  his  passionate 
reverie,  and  he  stared  upon  the  declining  sun. 

(22) 


TANCRED  23 

'The  path  to  the  right  leads  to  Bethany.'  The 
force  of  association  brought  back  the  last  words  that 
he  had  heard  from  a  human  voice.  And  can  he 
sleep  without  seeing  Bethany?  He  mounts  the  path. 
What  a  landscape  surrounds  him  as  he  moves!  What 
need  for  nature  to  be  fair  in  a  scene  like  this,  where 
not  a  spot  is  visible  that  is  not  heroic  or  sacred,  con- 
secrated or  memorable;  not  a  rock  that  is  not  the 
cave  of  prophets;  not  a  valley  that  is  not  the  valley 
of  heaven-anointed  kings;  not  a  mountain  that  is  not 
the  mountain  of  God! 

Before  him  is  a  living,  a  yet  breathing  and  ex- 
isting city,  which  Assyrian  monarchs  came  down 
to  besiege,  which  the  chariots  of  Pharaohs  encom- 
passed, which  Roman  Emperors  have  personally  as- 
sailed, for  which  Saladin  and  Coeur  de  Lion,  the 
desert  and  Christendom,  Asia  and  Europe,  strug- 
gled in  rival  chivalry;  a  city  which  Mahomet  sighed 
to  rule,  and  over  which  the  Creator  alike  of  Assyrian 
kings  and  Egyptian  Pharaohs  and  Roman  Caesars, 
the  Framer  alike  of  the  desert  and  of  Christendom, 
poured  forth  the  full  effusion  of  His  divinely  human 
sorrow. 

What  need  of  cascade  and  of  cataract,  the  deep 
green  turf,  the  foliage  of  the  fairest  trees,  the  impene- 
trable forest,  the  abounding  river,  mountains  of  gla- 
ciered  crest,  the  voice  of  birds,  the  bounding  forms 
of  beauteous  animals;  all  sights  and  sounds  of  mate- 
rial loveliness  that  might  become  the  delicate  ruins  of 
some  archaic  theatre,  or  the  lingering  fanes  of  some 
forgotten  faith  ?  They  would  not  be  observed  as  the 
eye  seized  on  Sion  and  Calvary;  the  gates  of  Bethle- 
hem and  Damascus;  the  hill  of  Titus;  the  Mosque  of 
Mahomet  and  the  tomb  of  Christ.     The  view  of  Jeru- 


24  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

salem  is  the  history  of  the  world;  it  is  more,  it  is 
the  history  of  earth  and  of  heaven. 

The  path  winding  round  the  southern  side  of  the 
Mount  of  Olives  at  length  brought  Tancred  in  sight 
of  a  secluded  village,  situate  among  the  hills  on  a 
sunny  slope,  and  shut  out  from  all  objects  excepting 
the  wide  landscape  which  immediately  faced  it;  the 
first  glimpse  of  Arabia  through  the  ravines  of  the  Ju- 
daean  hills;  the  rapid  Jordan  quitting  its  green  and 
happy  valley  for  the  bitter  waters  of  Asphaltites,  and, 
in  the  extreme  distance,  the  blue  mountains  of  Moab. 

Ere  he  turned  his  reluctant  steps  towards  the  city, 
he  was  attracted  by  a  garden,  which  issued,  as  it 
were,  from  a  gorge  in  the  hills,  so  that  its  limit  was 
not  perceptible,  and  then  spread  over  a  considerable 
space,  comparatively  with  the  inclosures  in  its  vicin- 
ity, until  it  reached  the  village.  It  was  surrounded 
by  high  stone  walls,  which  every  now  and  then  the 
dark  spiral  forms  of  a  cypress  or  a  cedar  would  over- 
top, and  in  the  more  distant  and  elevated  part  rose  a 
tall  palm  tree,  bending  its  graceful  and  languid  head, 
on  which  the  sunbeam  glittered.  It  was  the  first 
palm  that  Tancred  had  ever  seen,  and  his  heart 
throbbed  as  he  beheld  that  fair  and  sacred  tree. 

As  he  approached  the  garden,  Tancred  observed 
that  its  portal  was  open:  he  stopped  before  it,  and 
gazed  upon  its  walks  of  lemon  trees  with  delight  and 
curiosity.  Tancred  had  inherited  from  his  mother  a 
passion  for  gardens;  and  an  eastern  garden,  a  garden 
in  the  Holy  Land,  such  as  Gethsemane  might  have 
been  in  those  days  of  political  justice  when  Jerusalem 
belonged  to  the  Jews;  the  occasion  was  irresistible; 
he  could  not  withstand  the  temptation  of  beholding 
more  nearly  a  palm  tree;  and  he  entered. 


TANCRED  25 

Like  a  prince  in  a  fairy  tale,  who  has  broken  the 
mystic  boundary  of  some  enchanted  pleasaunce,  Tan- 
cred  traversed  the  alleys  which  were  formed  by  the 
lemon  and  pomegranate  tree,  and  sometimes  by  the 
myrtle  and  the  rose.  His  ear  caught  the  sound  of 
falling  water,  bubbling  with  a  gentle  noise;  more  dis- 
tinct and  more  forcible  every  step  that  he  advanced. 
The  walk  in  which  he  now  found  himself  ended  in 
an  open  space  covered  with  roses;  beyond  them  a 
gentle  acclivity,  clothed  so  thickly  with  a  small  bright 
blue  flower  that  it  seemed  a  bank  of  turquoise,  and 
on  its  top  was  a  kiosk  of  white  marble,  gilt  and 
painted;  by  its  side,  rising  from  a  group  of  rich 
shrubs,  was  the  palm,  whose  distant  crest  had  charmed 
Tancred  without  the  gate. 

In  the  centre  of  the  kiosk  was  the  fountain,  whose 
alluring  voice  had  tempted  Tancred  to  proceed  further 
than  he  had  at  first  dared  to  project.  He  must  not 
retire  without  visiting  the  waters  which  had  been 
speaking  to  him  so  long.  Following  the  path  round 
the  area  of  roses,  he  was  conducted  to  the  height  of 
the  acclivity,  and  entered  the  kiosk;  some  small  beau- 
tiful mats  were  spread  upon  its  floor,  and,  reposing 
upon  one  of  them,  Tancred  watched  the  bright  clear 
water  as  it  danced  and  sparkled  in  its  marble  basin. 

The  reader  has  perhaps  experienced  the  effect  of 
falling  water.  Its  lulling  influence  is  proverbial.  In 
the  present  instance,  we  must  remember  that  Tan- 
cred had  been  exposed  to  the  meridian  fervour  of  a 
Syrian  sun,  that  he  had  been  the  whole  day  under 
the  influence  of  that  excitement  which  necessarily 
ends  in  exhaustion;  and  that,  in  addition  to  this,  he 
had  recently  walked  some  distance;  it  will  not,  there- 
fore, be  looked  upon  as  an  incident  improbable  or  as- 


26  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

tonishing,  that  Lord  Montacute,  after  pursuing  for 
some  time  that  train  of  meditation  which  was  his 
custom,  should  have  fallen  asleep. 

His  hat  had  dropped  from  his  head;  his  rich  curls 
fell  on  his  outstretched  arm  that  served  as  a  pillow 
for  a  countenance  which  in  the  sweet  dignity  of  its 
blended  beauty  and  stillness  might  have  become  an 
archangel;  and,  lying  on  one  of  the  mats,  in  an  atti- 
tude of  unconscious  gracefulness,  which  a  painter 
might  have  transferred  to  his  portfolio,  Tancred  sank 
into  a  deep  and  dreamless  repose. 

He  woke  refreshed  and  renovated,  but  quite  in- 
sensible of  all  that  had  recently  occurred.  He  stretched 
his  limbs;  something  seemed  to  embarrass  him;  he 
found  himself  covered  with  a  rich  robe.  He  was 
about  to  rise,  resting  on  his  arm,  when  turning  his 
head  he  beheld  the  form  of  a  woman. 

She  was  young,  even  for  the  East;  her  stature 
rather  above  the  ordinary  height,  and  clothed  in  the 
rich  dress  usual  among  the  Syrian  ladies.  She  wore 
an  amber  vest  of  gold-embroidered  silk,  fitting  closely 
to  her  shape,  and  fastening  with  buttons  of  precious 
stones  from  the  bosom  to  the  waist,  there  opening 
like  a  tunic,  so  that  her  limbs  were  free  to  range  in 
her  huge  Mamlouk  trousers,  made  of  that  white 
Cashmere  a  shawl  of  which  can  be  drawn  through  a 
ring.  These,  fastened  round  her  ankles  with  clasps 
of  rubies,  fell  again  over  her  small  slippered  feet. 
Over  her  amber  vest  she  had  an  embroidered  pelisse 
of  violet  silk,  with  long  hanging  sleeves,  which 
showed  occasionally  an  arm  rarer  than  the  costly  jew- 
els which  embraced  it;  a  many-coloured  Turkish  scarf 
inclosed  her  waist;  and  then,  worn  loosely  over  all, 
was  an  outer   pelisse  of  amber    Cashmere,  lined  with 


TANCRED  27 

the  fur  of  the  white  fox.  At  the  back  of  her  head 
was  a  cap,  quite  unlike  the  Greek  and  Turkish  caps 
which  we  are  accustomed  to  see  in  England,  but 
somewhat  resembling  the  head-dress  of  a  Mandarin; 
round,  not  flexible,  almost  flat;  and  so  thickly  in- 
crusted  with  pearls,  that  it  was  impossible  to  detect 
the  colour  of  the  velvet  which  covered  it.  Beneath 
it  descended  two  broad  braids  of  dark  brown  hair, 
which  would  have  swept  the  ground  had  they  not 
been  turned  half-way  up,  and  there  fastened  with 
bunches  of  precious  stones;  these,  too,  restrained  the 
hair  which  fell,  in  rich  braids,  on  each  side  of  her 
face. 

That  face  presented  the  perfection  of  oriental 
beauty;  such  as  it  existed  in  Eden,  such  as  it 
may  yet  occasionally  be  found  among  the  favoured 
races  in  the  favoured  climes,  and  such  as  it  might 
have  been  found  abundantly  and  for  ever,  had  not 
the  folly  and  malignity  of  man  been  equal  to  the 
wisdom  and  beneficence  of  Jehovah.  The  counte- 
nance was  oval,  yet  the  head  was  small.  The  com- 
plexion was  neither  fair  nor  dark,  yet  it  possessed 
the  brilliancy  of  the  north  without  its  dryness,  and 
the  softness  peculiar  to  the  children  of  the  sun  with- 
out its  moisture.  A  rich,  subdued  and  equable  tint 
overspread  this  visage,  though  the  skin  was  so  trans- 
parent that  you  occasionally  caught  the  streaky  splen- 
dour of  some  vein  like  the  dappled  shades  in  the  fine 
peel  of  beautiful  fruit. 

But  it  was  in  the  eye  and  its  overspreading  arch 
that  all  the  Orient  spake,  and  you  read  at  once  of 
the  starry  vaults  of  Araby  and  the  splendour  of  Chal- 
dean skies.  Dark,  brilliant,  with  pupil  of  great  size 
and    prominent    from    its    socket,    its    expression    and 


28  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

effect,  notwithstanding  the  long  eyelash  of  the  desert, 
would  have  been  those  of  a  terrible  fascination  had 
not  the  depth  of  the  curve  in  which  it  reposed  soft- 
ened the  spell  and  modified  irresistible  power  by 
ineffable  tenderness.  This  supreme  organisation  is 
always  accompanied,  as  in  the  present  instance,  by  a 
noble  forehead,  and  by  an  eyebrow  of  perfect  form, 
spanning  its  space  with  undeviating  beauty;  very 
narrow,  though  its  roots  are  invisible. 

The  nose  was  small,  slightly  elevated,  with  long 
oval  nostrils  fully  developed.  The  small  mouth,  the 
short  upper  lip,  the  teeth  like  the  neighbouring  pearls 
of  Ormuz,  the  round  chin,  polished  as  a  statue,  were 
in  perfect  harmony  with  the  delicate  ears,  and  the 
hands  with  nails  shaped  like  almonds. 

Such  was  the  form  that  caught  the  eye  of  Tan- 
cred.  She  was  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  fountain, 
and  stood  gazing  on  him  with  calmness,  and  with  a 
kind  of  benignant  curiosity.  The  garden,  the  kiosk, 
the  falling  waters,  recalled  the  past,  which  flashed 
over  his  mind  almost  at  the  moment  when  he  be- 
held the  beautiful  apparition.  Half  risen,  yet  not 
willing  to  remain  until  he  was  on  his  legs  to  apolo- 
gise for  his  presence,  Tancred,  still  leaning  on  his 
arm  and  looking  up  at  his  unknown  companion,  said, 
'Lady,  I  am  an  intruder.' 

The  lady,  seating  herself  on  the  brink  of  the  foun- 
tain, and  motioning  at  the  same  time  with  her  hand 
to  Tancred  not  to  rise,  replied,  'We  are  so  near  the 
desert  that  you  must  not  doubt  our  hospitality.' 

'I  was  tempted  by  the  first  sight  of  a  palm  tree 
to  a  step  too  bold;  and  then  sitting  by  this  fountain, 
I  know  not  how  it  was ' 

'You   yielded    to    our   Syrian   sun,'  said    the    lady. 


TANCRED  29 

'It  has  been  the  doom  of  many;  but  you,  I  trust, 
will  not  find  it  fatal.  Walking  in  the  garden  with 
my  maidens,  we  observed  you,  and  one  of  us  cov- 
ered your  head.  If  you  remain  in  this  land  you 
should  wear  the  turban.' 

'This  garden  seems  a  paradise,'  said  Tancred.  'I 
had  not  thought  that  anything  so  fair  could  be  found 
among  these  awful  mountains.  It  is  a  spot  that  quite 
becomes  Bethany.' 

'You  Franks  love  Bethany.?' 

'Naturally;  a  place  to  us  most  dear  and  inter- 
esting.' 

'  Pray,  are  you  of  those  Franks  who  worship  a 
Jewess;  or  of  those  other  who  revile  her,  break  her 
images,  and  blaspheme  her  pictures.?' 

'1  venerate,  though  I  do  not  adore,  the  mother  of 
God,'  said  Tancred,  with  emotion. 

'Ah!  the  mother  of  Jesus!'  said  his  companion. 
'  He  is  your  God.  He  lived  much  in  this  village. 
He  was  a  great  man,  but  he  was  a  Jew;  and  you 
worship  him.' 

'And  you  do  not  worship  him?'  said  Tancred, 
looking  up  to  her  with  an  inquiring  glance,  and  with 
a  reddening  cheek. 

'It  sometimes  seems  to  me  that  I  ought,'  said  the 
lady,  'for  I  am  of  his  race,  and  you  should  sympa- 
thise with  your  race.' 

'You  are,  then,  a  Hebrew?' 

'  1  am  of  the  same  blood  as  Mary  whom  you  ven- 
erate, but  do  not  adore.' 

'You  just  now  observed,'  said  Tancred,  after  a 
momentary  pause,  'that  it  sometimes  almost  seems  to 
you  that  you  ought  to  acknowledge  my  Lord  and 
Master.      He    made    many    converts    at    Bethany,    and 


30  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

found  here  some  of  his  gentlest  disciples.  1  wish  that 
you  had  read  the  history  of  his  hfe.' 

'I  have  read  it.  The  Enghsh  bishop  here  has 
given  me  the  book.  It  is  a  good  one,  written,  I  ob- 
serve, entirely  by  Jews.  1  find  in  it  many  things 
with  which  I  agree;  and  if  there  be  some  from  which 
I  dissent,  it  may  be  that  1  do  not  comprehend 
them.' 

'You  are  already  half  a  Christian!'  said  Tancred, 
with  animation. 

'  But  the  Christianity  which  I  draw  from  your  book 
does  not  agree  with  the  Christianity  which  you  prac- 
tise,' said  the  lady,  'and  I  fear,  therefore,  it  may  be 
heretical.' 

'The  Christian  Church  would  be  your  guide.' 

'Which.?'  inquired  the  lady;  'there  are  so  many 
in  Jerusalem.  There  is  the  good  bishop  who  pre- 
sented me  with  this  volume,  and  who  is  himself  a 
Hebrew:  he  is  a  Church;  there  is  the  Latin  Church, 
which  was  founded  by  a  Hebrew;  there  is  the  Ar- 
menian Church,  which  belongs  to  an  Eastern  nation 
who,  like  the  Hebrews,  have  lost  their  country  and 
are  scattered  in  every  clime;  there  is  the  Abyssinian 
Church,  who  hold  us  in  great  honour,  and  practise 
many  of  our  rites  and  ceremonies;  and  there  are  the 
Greek,  the  Maronite,  and  the  Coptic  Churches,  who 
do  not  favour  us,  but  who  do  not  treat  us  as  grossly 
as  they  treat  each  other.  In  this  perplexity  it  may 
be  wise  to  remain  within  the  pale  of  a  church  older 
than  all  of  them,  the  church  in  which  Jesus  was  born 
and  which  he  never  quitted,  for  he  was  born  a  Jew, 
lived  a  Jew,  and  died  a  Jew;  as  became  a  Prince  of 
the  House  of  David,  which  you  do  and  must  acknowl- 
edge   him    to    have    been.      Your    sacred    genealogies 


TANCRED  31 

prove  the  fact;  and  if  you  could  not  establish  it,  the 
whole  fabric  of  your  faith  falls  to  the  ground.' 

'If  1  had  no  confidence  in  any  Church,'  said  Tan- 
cred,  with  agitation,  '1  would  fall  down  before  God 
and  beseech  him  to  enlighten  me;  and,  in  this  land,' 
he  added,  in  a  tone  of  excitement,  '1  cannot  believe 
that  the  appeal  to  the  Mercy-seat  would  be  made  in 
vain.' 

'  But  human  wit  ought  to  be  exhausted  before  we 
presume  to  invoke  divine  interposition,'  said  the  lady. 
'I  observe  that  Jesus  was  as  fond  of  asking  questions 
as  of  performing  miracles;  an  inquiring  spirit  will 
solve  mysteries.  Let  me  ask  you:  you  think  that  the 
present  state  of  my  race  is  penal  and  miraculous?' 

Tancred  gently  bowed  assent. 

'  Why  do  you  ? '  asked  the  lady. 

'  It  is  the  punishment  ordained  for  their  rejection 
and  crucifixion  of  the  Messiah.' 

'Where  is  it  ordained?' 

'Upon  our  heads  and  upon  our  children  be  his 
blood.' 

'The  criminals  said  that,  not  the  judge.  Is  it  a 
principle  of  your  jurisprudence  to  permit  the  guilty  to 
assign  their  own  punishment?  They  might  deserve 
a  severer  one.  Why  should  they  transfer  any  of  the 
infliction  to  their  posterity?  What  evidence  have  you 
that  Omnipotence  accepted  the  offer?  It  is  not  so 
announced  in  your  histories.  Your  evidence  is  the  re- 
verse. He,  whom  you  acknowledge  as  omnipotent, 
prayed  to  Jehovah  to  forgive  them  on  account  of  their 
ignorance.  But,  admit  that  the  offer  was  accepted, 
which  in  my  opinion  is  blasphemy,  is  the  cry  of  a 
rabble  at  a  public  execution  to  bind  a  nation?  There 
was  a  great    party  in    the    country  not    disinclined   to 


32  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

Jesus  at  the  time,  especially  in  the  provinces  where 
he  had  laboured  for  three  years,  and  on  the  whole 
with  success;  are  they  and  their  children  to  suffer? 
But  you  will  say  they  became  Christians.  Admit  it. 
We  were  originally  a  nation  of  twelve  tribes;  ten, 
long  before  the  advent  of  Jesus,  had  been  carried  into 
captivity  and  scattered  over  the  East  and  the  Medi- 
terranean world;  they  are  probably  the  source  of  the 
greater  portion  of  the  existing  Hebrews;  for  we  know 
that,  even  in  the  time  of  Jesus,  Hebrews  came  up  to 
Jerusalem  at  the  Passover  from  every  province  of  the 
Roman  Empire.  What  had  they  to  do  with  the  cruci- 
fixion or  the  rejection  ? ' 

'  The  fate  of  the  Ten  Tribes  is  a  deeply  interesting 
question,'  said  Tancred;  'but  involved  in,  I  fear,  in- 
explicable obscurity.  In  England  there  are  many  who 
hold  them  to  be  represented  by  the  Afghans,  who 
state  that  their  ancestors  followed  the  laws  of  Moses. 
But  perhaps  they  ceased  to  exist  and  were  blended 
with  their  conquerors.' 

'The  Hebrews  have  never  blended  with  their  con- 
querors,' said  the  lady,  proudly.  'They  were  con- 
quered frequently,  like  all  small  states  situate  amid 
rival  empires.  Syria  was  the  battlefield  of  the  great 
monarchies.  Jerusalem  has  not  been  conquered  oftener 
than  Athens,  or  treated  worse;  but  its  people,  un- 
happily, fought  too  bravely  and  rebelled  too  often,  so 
at  last  they  were  expatriated.  I  hold  that,  to  believe 
that  the  Hebrew  communities  are  in  a  principal  measure 
the  descendants  of  the  Ten  Tribes,  and  of  the  other 
captivities  preceding  Christ,  is  a  just,  and  fair,  and 
sensible  inference,  which  explains  circumstances  that 
otherwise  could  not  be  explicable.  But  let  that 
pass.      We  will  suppose  all  the  Jews  in  all  the  cities 


TANCRED  22 

of  the  world  to  be  the  lineal  descendants  of  the  mob 
who  shouted  at  the  crucifixion.  Yet  another  ques- 
tion! My  grandfather  is  a  Bedouin  sheikh,  chief  of 
one  of  the  most  powerful  tribes  of  the  desert.  My 
mother  was  his  daughter.  He  is  a  Jew;  his  whole 
tribe  are  Jews;  they  read  and  obey  the  five  books, 
live  in  tents,  have  thousands  of  camels,  ride  horses  of 
the  Nedjed  breed,  and  care  for  nothing  except  Je- 
hovah, Moses,  and  their  mares.  Were  they  at  Jerusa- 
lem at  the  crucifixion,  and  does  the  shout  of  the 
rabble  touch  them  ?  Yet  my  mother  marries  a  Hebrew 
of  the  cities,  and  a  man,  too,  fit  to  sit  on  the  throne 
of  King  Solomon;  and  a  little  Christian  Yahoor  with 
a  round  hat,  who  sells  figs  at  Smyrna,  will  cross  the 
street  if  he  see  her,  lest  he  should  be  contaminated 
by  the  blood  of  one  who  crucified  his  Saviour;  his 
Saviour  being,  by  his  own  statement,  one  of  the 
princes  of  our  royal  house.  No;  I  will  never  become 
a  Christian,  if  1  am  to  eat  such  sandl  It  is  not  to  be 
found  in  your  books.  They  were  written  by  Jews, 
men  far  too  well  acquainted  with  their  subject  to  in- 
dite such  tales  of  the  Philistines  as  these!' 

Tancred  looked  at  her  with  deep  interest  as  her 
eye  flashed  fire,  and  her  beautiful  cheek  was  for  a  mo- 
ment suffused  with  the  crimson  cloud  of  indignant  pas- 
sion; and  then  he  said,  'You  speak  of  things  that  deeply 
interest  me,  or  1  should  not  be  in  this  land.  But  tell 
me:  it  cannot  be  denied  that,  whatever  the  cause,  the 
miracle  exists;  and  that  the  Hebrews,  alone  of  the 
ancient  races,  remain,  and  are  found  in  every  country, 
a  memorial  of  the  mysterious  and  mighty  past.' 

'Their  state  may  be  miraculous  without  being 
penal.  But  why  miraculous  ?  Is  it  a  miracle  that  Je- 
hovah should  guard  his  people.?      And  can  He   guard 

i6     B.  D.-5 


34  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

them  better  than  by  endowing  them  with  faculties 
superior  to  those  of  the  nations  among  whom  they 
dwell?' 

*  1  cannot  beheve  that  merely  human  agencies 
could  have  sustained  a  career  of  such  duration  and 
such  vicissitudes.' 

'As  for  human  agencies,  we  have  a  proverb:  "The 
will  of  man  is  the  servant  of  God."  But  if  you  wish 
to  make  a  race  endure,  rely  upon  it  you  should  ex- 
patriate them.  Conquer  them,  and  they  may  blend 
with  their  conquerors;  exile  them,  and  they  will  live 
apart  and  for  ever.  To  expatriate  is  purely  oriental, 
quite  unknown  to  the  modern  world.  We  were 
speaking  of  the  Armenians,  they  are  Christians,  and 
good  ones,  I  believe.' 

'1  have  understood  very  orthodox.' 

'  Go  to  Armenia,  and  you  will  not  find  an  Arme- 
nian. They,  too,  are  an  expatriated  nation,  like  the 
Hebrews.  The  Persians  conquered  their  land,  and 
drove  out  the  people.  The  Armenian  has  a  proverb: 
"In  every  city  of  the  East  1  find  a  home."  They  are 
everywhere;  the  rivals  of  my  people,  for  they  are  one 
of  the  great  races,  and  little  degenerated:  with  all  our 
industry,  and  much  of  our  energy;  I  would  say,  with 
all  our  human  virtues,  though  it  cannot  be  expected 
that  they  should  possess  our  divine  qualities;  they 
have  not  produced  Gods  and  prophets,  and  are  proud 
that  they  can  trace  up  their  faith  to  one  of  the  ob- 
scurest of  the  Hebrew  apostles,  and  who  never  knew 
his  great  master.' 

'But  the  Armenians  are  found  only  in  the  East,' 
said  Tancred. 

'Ah!'  said  the  lady,  with  a  sarcastic  smile;  'it  is 
exile  to  Europe,  then,  that  is  the  curse:  well,   1  think 


TANCRED 


3S 


you  have  some  reason.  I  do  not  know  much  of  your 
quarter  of  the  globe:  Europe  is  to  Asia  what  America 
is  to  Europe.  But  1  have  felt  the  winds  of  the  Exuine 
blowing  up  the  Bosphorus;  and,  when  the  Sultan 
was  once  going  to  cut  off  our  heads  for  helping  the 
Egyptians,  1  passed  some  months  at  Vienna.  Oh! 
how  1  sighed  for  my  beautiful  Damascus!' 

'  And  for  your  garden  at  Bethany  ? '  said  Tan- 
cred. 

'It  did  not  exist  then.  This  is  a  recent  creation,' 
said  the  lady,  'I  have  built  a  nest  in  the  chink  of 
the  hills,  that  I  might  look  upon  Arabia;  and  the 
palm  tree  that  invited  you  to  honour  my  domain  was 
the  contribution  of  my  Arab  grandfather  to  the  only 
garden  near  Jerusalem.  But  1  want  to  ask  you 
another  question.  What,  on  the  whole,  is  the  thing 
most  valued  in  Europe?' 

Tancred  pondered;  and,  after  a  slight  pause,  said, 
'  I  think  1  know  what  ought  to  be  most  valued  in 
Europe;  it  is  something  very  different  from  what  I 
fear  1  must  confess  is  most  valued  there.  My  cheek 
burns  while  I  say  it;  but  I  think,  in  Europe,  what  is 
most  valued  is  money.' 

'On  the  whole,' said  the  lady,  'he  that  has  most 
money  there  is  most  honoured?' 

'  Practically,  I  apprehend  so.' 

'Which  is  the  greatest  city  in  Europe?' 

'Without  doubt,  the  capital  of  my  country,  London.' 

'Greater  I  know  it  is  than  Vienna;  but  is  it 
greater  than  Paris  ? ' 

'Perhaps  double  the  size  of  Paris.' 

'And  four  times  that  of  Stamboul!  What  a  city! 
Why  'tis  Babylon!  How  rich  the  most  honoured 
man  must  be  there!     Tell  me.  is  he  a  Christian?' 


26  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'1  believe  he  is  one  of  your  race  and  faith.' 

'And  in  Paris;    who  is  the  richest  man  in  Paris?' 

'The  brother,  I  believe,  of  the  richest  man  in 
London.' 

'I  know  all  about  Vienna,'  said  the  lady,  smiling. 
'Csesar  makes  my  countrymen  barons  of  the  empire, 
and  rightly,  for  it  would  fall  to  pieces  in  a  week 
without  their  support.  Well,  you  must  admit  that 
the  European  part  of  the  curse  has  not  worked  very 
fatally.' 

'I  do  not  see,'  said  Tancred  thoughtfully,  after  a 
short  pause,  'that  the  penal  dispersion  of  the  Hebrew 
nation  is  at  all  essential  to  the  great  object  of  the 
Christian  scheme.  If  a  Jew  did  not  exist,  that  would 
equally  have  been  obtained.' 

'  And  what  do  you  hold  to  be  the  essential  object 
of  the  Christian  scheme  ? ' 

'The  Expiation.' 

'Ahl'  said  the  lady,  in  a  tone  of  much  solemnity, 
'that  is  a  great  idea;  in  harmony  with  our  instincts, 
with  our  traditions,  our  customs.  It  is  deeply  im- 
pressed upon  the  convictions  of  this  land.  Shaped  as 
you  Christians  offer  the  doctrine,  it  loses  none  of  its 
sublimity;  or  its  associations,  full  at  the  same  time 
of  mystery,  power,  and  solace.  A  sacrificial  Mediator 
with  Jehovah,  that  expiatory  intercessor  born  from 
the  chosen  house  of  the  chosen  people,  yet  blending 
in  his  inexplicable  nature  the  divine  essence  with  the 
human  elements,  appointed  before  all  time,  and  puri- 
fying, by  his  atoning  blood,  the  myriads  that  pre- 
ceded and  the  myriads  that  will  follow  us,  without 
distinction  of  creed  or  clime,  this  is  what  you  believe. 
I  acknowledge  the  vast  conception,  dimly  as  my 
brain    can    partially    embrace    it.     I    understand    thus 


TANCRED  37 

much:  the  human  race  is  saved;  and,  without  the 
apparent  agency  of  a  Hebrew  prince,  it  could  not 
have  been  saved.  Now  tell  me:  suppose  the  Jews 
had  not  prevailed  upon  the  Romans  to  crucify  Jesus, 
what  would  have  become  ot  the  Atonement?' 

'  I  cannot  permit  myself  to  contemplate  such  con- 
tingencies,' said  Tancred.  'The  subject  is  too  high 
for  me  to  touch  with  speculation.  I  must  not  even 
consider  an  event  that  had  been  pre-ordained  by  the 
Creator  of  the  world  for  countless  ages.' 

'Ah!'  said  the  lady;  'pre-ordained  by  the  Creator 
of  the  world  for  countless  ages!  Where,  then,  was 
the  inexpiable  crime  of  those  who  fulfilled  the  benefi- 
cent intention?  The  holy  race  supplied  the  victim 
and  the  immolators.  What  other  race  could  have 
been  entrusted  with  such  a  consummation  ?  Was  not 
Abraham  prepared  to  sacrifice  even  his  son  ?  And 
with  such  a  doctrine,  that  embraces  all  space  and 
time;  nay  more,  chaos  and  eternity;  with  divine  per- 
sons for  the  agents,  and  the  redemption  of  the  whole 
family  of  man  for  the  subject;  you  can  mix  up  the 
miserable  persecution  of  a  single  race!  And  this  is 
practical,  not  doctrinal  Christianity.  It  is  not  found 
in  your  Christian  books,  which  were  all  written  by 
Jews;  it  must  have  been  made  by  some  of  those 
Churches  to  which  you  have  referred  me.  Persecute 
us!  Why,  if  you  believe  what  you  profess,  you 
should  kneel  to  us!  You  raise  statues  to  the  hero 
who  saves  a  country.  We  have  saved  the  human 
race,  and  you  persecute  us  for  doing  it.' 

'  1  am  no  persecutor,' said  Tancred,  with  emotion; 
'and,  had  1  been  so,  my  visit  to  Bethany  would  have 
cleansed  my  heart  of  such  dark  thoughts.' 

'We    have  some  conclusions  in  common,'  said  his 


38 


BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 


companion,  rising.  '  We  agree  that  half  Christendom 
worships  a  Jewess,  and  the  other  half  a  Jew.  Now 
let  me  ask  one  more  question.  Which  is  the  superior 
race,  the  worshipped  or  the  worshippers?' 

Tancred  looked  up  to  reply,  but  the  lady  had  dis- 
appeared. 


CHAPTER     XXVII 


Fakredeen  and  the  Rose 
OF  Sharon. 

EFORE  Tancred  could  recover  from 
his  surprise,  the  kiosk  was  invaded 
by  a  crowd  of  little  grinning  negro 
pages,  dressed  in  white  tunics, 
with  red  caps  and  slippers.  They 
bore  a  number  of  diminutive  trays 
of  ebony  inlaid  with  tortoiseshell,  and  the  mother-o'- 
pearl  of  Joppa,  and  covered  with  a  great  variety  of 
dishes.  It  was  in  vain  that  he  would  have  signified 
to  them  that  he  had  no  wish  to  partake  of  the  ban- 
quet, and  that  he  attempted  to  rise  from  his  mat. 
They  understood  nothing  that  he  said,  but  always 
grinning  and  moving  about  him  with  wonderful 
quickness,  they  fastened  a  napkin  of  the  finest  linen, 
fringed  with  gold,  round  his  neck,  covered  the  mats 
and  the  border  of  the  fountain  with  their  dishes  and 
vases  of  differently-coloured  sherbets,  and  proceeded, 
notwithstanding  all  his  attempts  at  refusal,  to  hand 
him  their  dainties  in  due  order.  Notwithstanding  his 
present  tone  of  mind,  which  was  ill-adapted  to  any 
carnal  gratification,  Tancred  had  nevertheless  been  an 
unusual  number  of  hours  without  food.     He  had  made 

(39) 


40  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

during  the  period  no  inconsiderable  exertion,  and 
was  still  some  distance  from  the  city.  Though  he 
resigned  himself  perforce  to  the  care  of  his  little  at- 
tendants, their  solicitude  therefore  was  not  inap- 
propriate. He  partook  of  some  of  their  dishes,  and 
when  he  had  at  length  succeeded  in  conveying  to 
them  his  resolution  to  taste  no  more,  they  cleared  the 
kiosk  with  as  marvellous  a  celerity  as  they  had  stored 
it,  and  then  two  of  them  advanced  with  a  nargileh  and 
a  chibouque,  to  offer  their  choice  to  their  guest.  Tan- 
cred  placed  the  latter  for  a  moment  to  his  mouth,  and 
then  rising,  and  making  signs  to  the  pages  that  he 
would  now  return,  they  danced  before  him  in  the 
path  till  he  had  reached  the  other  side  of  the  area  of 
roses,  and  then,  with  a  hundred  bows,  bending,  they 
took  their  leave  of  him. 

The  sun  had  just  sunk  as  Tancred  quitted  the  gar- 
den: a  crimson  glow,  shifting,  as  he  proceeded,  into 
rich  tints  of  purple  and  of  gold,  suffused  the  stern  Ju- 
daean  hills,  and  lent  an  almost  supernatural  lustre  to 
the  landscape;  lighting  up  the  wild  gorges,  gilding 
the  distant  glens,  and  still  kindling  the  superior  eleva- 
tions with  its  living  blaze.  The  air,  yet  fervid,  was 
freshened  by  a  slight  breeze  that  came  over  the  wil- 
derness from  the  Jordan,  and  the  big  round  stars  that 
were  already  floating  in  the  skies  were  the  brilliant 
heralds  of  the  splendour  of  a  Syrian  night.  The  beau- 
teous hour  and  the  sacred  scene  were  alike  in  unison 
with  the  heart  of  Tancred,  softened  and  serious.  He 
mused  in  fascinated  reverie  over  the  dazzling  incident 
of  the  day.  Who  was  this  lady  of  Bethany,  who 
seemed  not  unworthy  to  have  followed  Him  who  had 
made  her  abiding  place  so  memorable?  Her  beauty 
might  have  baffled  the  most  ideal    painter  of  the   fair 


TANCRED  41 

Hebrew  saints.  RafFaelle  himself  could  not  have  de- 
signed a  brow  of  more  delicate  supremacy.  Her  lofty 
but  gracious  bearing,  the  vigour  of  her  clear,  frank 
mind,  her  earnestness,  free  from  all  ecstasy  and  flimsy 
enthusiasm,  but  founded  in  knowledge  and  deep 
thought,  and  ever  sustained  by  exact  expression  and 
ready  argument,  her  sweet  witty  voice,  the  great  and 
all-engaging  theme  on  which  she  was  so  content  to 
discourse,  and  which  seemed  by  right  to  belong  to 
her:  all  these  were  circumstances  which  wonderfully 
affected  the  imagination  of  Tancred. 

He  was  lost  in  the  empyrean  of  high  abstraction, 
his  gaze  apparently  fixed  on  the  purple  mountains, 
and  the  golden  skies,  and  the  glittering  orbs  of  com- 
ing night,  which  yet  in  truth  he  never  saw,  when  a 
repeated  shout  at  length  roused  him.  It  bade  him 
stand  aside  on  the  narrow  path  that  winds  round  the 
Mount  of  Olives  from  Jerusalem  to  Bethany,  and  let  a 
coming  horseman  pass.  The  horseman  was  the  young 
Emir  who  was  a  guest  the  night  before  in  the  divan 
of  Besso.  Though  habited  in  the  Mamlouk  dress,  as 
if  only  the  attendant  of  some  great  man,  huge  trou- 
sers and  jacket  of  crimson  cloth,  a  white  turban,  a 
shawl  round  his  waist  holding  his  pistols  and  sabre, 
the  horse  he  rode  was  a  Kochlani  of  the  highest 
breed.  By  him  was  a  running  footman,  holding  his 
nargileh,  to  which  the  Emir  frequently  applied  his 
mouth  as  he  rode  along.  He  shot  a  keen  glance  at 
Tancred  as  he  passed  by,  and  then  throwing  his  tube 
to  his  attendant,  he  bounded  on. 

In  the  meantime,  we  must  not  forget  the  lady  of 
Bethany  after  she  so  suddenly  disappeared  from  the 
kiosk.  Proceeding  up  her  mountain  garden,  which 
narrowed    as   she  advanced,  and  attended  by  two  fe- 


42  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

male  slaves,  who  had  been  in  waiting  without  the 
kiosk,  she  was  soon  in  that  hilly  chink  in  which  she 
had  built  her  nest;  a  long,  low  pavilion,  with  a 
shelving  roof,  and  surrounded  by  a  Saracenic  arcade; 
the  whole  painted  in  fresco;  a  golden  pattern  of  flow- 
ing fancy  on  a  white  ground.  If  there  were  door  or 
window,  they  were  entirely  concealed  by  the  blinds 
which  appeared  to  cover  the  whole  surface  of  the 
building.  Stepping  into  the  arcade,  the  lady  entered 
the  pavilion  by  a  side  portal,  which  opened  by  a 
secret  spring,  and  which  conducted  her  into  a  small 
corridor,  and  this  again  through  two  chambers,  in 
both  of  which  were  many  females,  who  mutely  sa- 
luted her  without  rising  from  their  employments. 

Then  the  mistress  entered  a  more  capacious  and 
ornate  apartment.  Its  ceiling,  which  described  the 
horseshoe  arch  of  the  Saracens,  was  encrusted  with 
that  honeycomb  work  which  is  peculiar  to  them, 
and  which,  in  the  present  instance,  was  of  rose  col- 
our and  silver.  Mirrors  were  inserted  in  the  cedar 
panels  of  the  walls;  a  divan  of  rose-coloured  silk  sur- 
rounded the  chamber,  and  on  the  thick  soft  carpet  of 
many  colours,  which  nearly  covered  the  floor,  were 
several  cushions  surrounding  an  antique  marble  tripod 
of  wreathed  serpents.  The  lady,  disembarrassing  her- 
self of  her  slippers,  seated  herself  on  the  divan  in  the 
fashion  of  her  country;  one  of  her  attendants  brought 
a  large  silver  lamp,  which  difl'used  a  delicious  odour 
as  well  as  a  brilliant  light,  and  placed  it  on  the  tri- 
pod; the  other  clapped  her  hands,  and  a  band  of 
beautiful  girls  entered  the  room,  bearing  dishes  of 
confectionery,  plates  of  choice  fruits,  and  vases  ot  de- 
licious sherbets.  The  lady,  partaking  of  some  of 
these,  directed,  after  a   short   time,  that   they   should 


TANCRED  43 

be  offered  to  her  immediate  attendants,  who  there- 
upon kissed  their  hands  with  a  grave  face,  and 
pressed  them  to  their  hearts.  Then  one  of  the  girls, 
leaving  the  apartment  for  a  moment,  returned  with  a 
nargileh  of  crystal,  set  by  the  most  cunning  artists  of 
Damascus  in  a  framework  of  golden  filigree  crusted 
with  precious  stones.  She  presented  the  flexible  sil- 
ver tube,  tipped  with  amber,  to  the  lady,  who,  wav- 
ing her  hand  that  the  room  should  be  cleared,  smoked 
a  confection  of  roses  and  rare  nuts,  while  she  listened 
to  a  volume  read  by  one  of  her  maidens,  who  was 
seated  by  the  silver  lamp. 

While  they  were  thus  employed,  an  opposite  cur- 
tain to  that  by  which  they  had  entered  was  drawn 
aside,  and  a  woman  advanced,  and  whispered  some 
words  to  the  lady,  who  seemed  to  signify  her  assent. 
Immediately,  a  tall  negro  of  Dongola,  richly  habited 
in  a  flowing  crimson  vest,  and  with  a  large  silver 
collar  round  his  neck,  entered  the  hall,  and,  after  the 
usual  salutations  of  reverence  to  the  lady,  spoke 
earnestly  in  a  low  voice.  The  lady  listened  with 
great  attention,  and  then,  taking  out  her  tablets  from 
her  girdle,  she  wrote  a  few  words  and  gave  a  leaf  to 
the  tall  negro,  who  bowed  and  retired.  Then  she 
waved  her  hand,  and  the  maiden  who  was  reading 
closed  her  book,  rose,  and,  pressing  her  hand  to  her 
heart,  retired. 

It  seemed  that  the  young  Emir  had  arrived  at  the 
pavilion,  and  prayed  that,  without  a  moment's  delay, 
he  might  speak  with  the  Lady  of  Bethany. 

The  curtain  was  again  withdrawn,  a  light  step  was 
heard,  the  young  man  who  had  recently  passed  Tan- 
cred  on  the  road  to  Jerusalem  bounded  into  the  room. 

'How  is  the  Rose  of  Sharon?'  he  exclaimed.     He 


44  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

threw  himself  at  her  feet,  and  pressed  the  hem  of 
her  garment  to  his  lips  with  an  ecstasy  which  it 
would  have  been  difficult  for  a  bystander  to  decide 
whether  it  were  mockery  or  enthusiasm,  or  genuine 
feeling,  which  took  a  sportive  air  to  veil  a  devotion 
which  it  could  not  conceal,  and  which  it  cared  not 
too  gravely  to  intimate. 

'Ah,  Fakredeen!'  said  the  lady,  'and  when  did 
you  leave  the  Mountain?' 

'1  arrived  at  Jerusalem  yesterday  by  sunset;  never 
did  1  want  to  see  you  so  much.  The  foreign  consuls 
have  stopped  my  civil  war,  which  cost  me  a  hundred 
thousand  piastres.  We  went  down  to  Beiroot  and 
signed  articles  of  peace;  I  thought  it  best  to  attend 
to  escape  suspicion.  However,  there  is  more  stirring 
than  you  can  conceive:  never  had  I  such  combina- 
tions! First,  let  me  shortly  tell  you  what  I  have 
done,  then  what  I  wish  you  to  do.  I  have  made  im- 
mense hits,  but  I  am  also  in  a  scrape.' 

'That  1  think  you  always  are,'  said  the  lady. 

'But  you  will  get  me  out  of  it.  Rose  of  Sharon! 
You  always  do,  brightest  and  sweetest  of  friends! 
What  an  alliance  is  ours!  My  invention,  your  judg- 
ment; my  combinations,  your  criticism.  It  must 
carry  everything  before  it.' 

'  I  do  not  see  that  it  has  effected  much  hitherto,' 
said  the  lady.  '  However,  give  me  your  mountain 
news.     What  have  you  done?' 

'In  the  first  place,'  said  Fakredeen,  'until  this  ac- 
cursed peace  intrigue  of  the  foreign  consuls,  which 
will  not  last  as  long  as  the  carnival,  the  Mountain 
was  more  troubled  than  ever,  and  the  Porte,  backed 
up  by  Sir  Canning,  is  obstinate  against  any  prince  of 
our  house  exercising  the  rule.' 


TANCRED  45 

'  Do  you  call  that  good  news  ? ' 

'  It  serves.  In  the  first  place  it  keeps  my  good 
uncle,  the  Emir  Bescheer  and  his  sons,  prisoners  at 
the  Seven  Towers.  Now,  I  will  tell  you  what  I  have 
done.  I  have  sent  to  my  uncle  and  offered  him  two 
hundred  thousand  piastres  a  year  for  his  life  and  that 
of  his  sons,  if  they  will  represent  to  the  Porte  that 
none  but  a  prince  of  the  house  of  Shehaab  can  pos- 
sibly pacify  and  administer  Lebanon,  and  that,  to  obtain 
this  necessary  end,  they  are  ready  to  resign  their  rights 
in  favour  of  any  other  member  of  the  family.' 

'What  then?'  said  the  Lady  of  Bethany,  taking 
her  nargileh  from  her  mouth. 

'Why,  then,'  said  Fakredeen,  'I  am  by  another 
agent  working  upon  Riza  Pasha  to  this  effect,  that  of 
all  the  princes  of  the  great  house  of  Shehaab,  there 
is  none  so  well  adapted  to  support  the  interests  of 
the  Porte  as  the  Emir  Fakredeen,  and  for  these  three 
principal  reasons:  in  the  first  place,  because  he  is  a 
prince  of  great  qualities ' 

'  Your  proof  of  them  to  the  vizir  would  be  better 
than  your  assertion.' 

'Exactly,'  said  Fakredeen.  'I  prove  them  by  my 
second  reason,  which  is  a  guaranty  to  his  excellency 
of  the  whole  revenue  of  the  first  year  of  my  prince- 
dom, provided  I  receive  the  berat.' 

'I  can  tell  you  something,'  said  the  lady,  'Riza 
shakes  a  little.  He  is  too  fond  of  first-fruits.  His 
nomination  will  not  be  popular.' 

'  Yes  it  will,  when  the  divan  takes  into  considera- 
tion the  third  reason  for  my  appointment,'  said  the 
prince.  '  Namely,  that  the  Emir  Fakredeen  is  the 
only  prince  of  the  great  house  of  Shehaab  who  is  a 
good  Mussulman.' 


46  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'You  a  good  Mussulman!  Why,  I  thought  you 
had  sent  two  months  ago  Archbishop  Murad  to  Paris, 
urging  King  Louis  to  support  you,  because,  amongst 
other  reasons,  being  a  Christian  prince,  you  would 
defend  the  faith  and  privileges  of  the  Maronites.' 

'And  devote  myself  to  France,'  said  Fakredeen. 
'  It  is  very  true,  and  an  excellent  combination  it  is,  if 
we  could  only  bring  it  to  bear,  which  I  do  not  de- 
spair of,  though  affairs,  which  looked  promising  at 
Paris,  have  taken  an  unfortunate  turn  of  late." 

'1  am  sorry  for  that,'  said  the  lady,  'for  really, 
Fakredeen,  of  all  your  innumerable  combinations,  that 
did  seem  to  me  to  be  the  most  practical.  I  think  it 
might  have  been  worked.  The  Maronites  are  power- 
ful; the  French  nation  is  interested  in  them;  they  are 
the  link  between  France  and  Syria;  and  you,  being  a 
Christian  prince  as  well  as  an  emir  of  the  most  illus- 
trious house,  with  your  intelligence  and  such  aid  as 
we  might  give  you,  I  think  your  prospects  were,  to 
say  the  least,  fair.' 

'Why,  as  to  being  a  Christian  prince,  Eva,  you 
must  remember  I  aspire  to  a  dominion  where  I  have 
to  govern  the  Maronites  who  are  Christians,  the 
Metoualis  who  are  Mahometans,  the  Ansareys  who 
are  Pagans,  and  the  Druses  who  are  nothing.  As  for 
myself,  my  house,  as  you  well  know,  is  more  ancient 
even  than  that  of  Othman.  We  are  literally  de- 
scended from  the  standard-bearer  of  the  Prophet,  and 
my  own  estates,  as  well  as  those  of  the  Emir  Bes- 
cheer,  have  been  in  our  registered  possession  for 
nearly  eight  hundred  years.  Our  ancestors  became 
Christians  to  conciliate  the  Maronites.  Now  tell  me: 
in  Europe,  an  English  or  French  prince  who  wants  a 
throne    never   hesitates    to   change    his    religion,    why 


TANCRED  47 

should  I  be  more  nice?  I  am  of  that  religion  which 
gives  me  a  sceptre;  and  if  a  Frank  prince  adopts  a 
new  creed  when  he  quits  London  or  Paris,  I  cannot 
understand  why  mine  may  not  change  according  to 
the  part  of  the  mountain  through  which  I  am  passing. 
What  is  the  use  of  belonging  to  an  old  family  unless 
to  have  the  authority  of  an  ancestor  ready  for  any 
prejudice,  religious  or  political,  which  your  combina- 
tions may  require  ?' 

'Ah!  Fakredeen,'  said  the  lady,  shaking  her  head, 
'you  have  no  self-respect.' 

'No  Syrian  has;  it  won't  do  for  us.  You  are  an 
Arabian;  it  will  do  for  the  desert.  Self-respect,  too, 
is  a  superstition  of  past  centuries,  an  affair  of  the 
Crusades.  It  is  not  suited  to  these  times;  it  is  much 
too  arrogant,  too  self-conceited,  too  egotistical.  No 
one  is  important  enough  to  have  self-respect.  Don't 
you  see?' 

'  You  boast  of  being  a  prince  inferior  to  none  in 
the  antiquity  of  your  lineage,  and,  as  far  as  the  mere 
fact  is  concerned,  you  are  justified  in  your  boast.  I 
cannot  comprehend  how  one  who  feels  this  pride 
should  deign  to  do  anything  that  is  not  princely.' 

'A  prince!'  exclaimed  Fakredeen.  'Princes  go 
for  nothing  now,  without  a  loan.  Get  me  a  loan, 
and  then  you  turn  the  prince  into  a  government. 
That's  the   thing.' 

'  You  will  never  get  a  loan  till  you  are  Emir  of 
Lebanon,'  said  the  lady.  'And  you  have  shown  me 
to-day  that  the  only  chance  you  have  is  failing  you, 
for,  after  all,  Paris  was  your  hope.  What  has  crossed 
you?' 

'In  the  first  place,'  said  Fakredeen,  'what  can  the 
French  do?     After  having  let  the  Egyptians  be  driven 


48  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

out,  fortunately  for  me,  for  their  expulsion  ruined  my 
uncle,  the  French  will  never  take  the  initiative  in 
Syria.  All  that  I  wanted  of  them  was,  that  they 
should  not  oppose  Riza  Pasha  in  his  nomination  of 
me.  But  to  secure  his  success  a  finer  move  was  nec- 
essary. So  I  instructed  Archbishop  Murad,  whom 
they  received  very  well  at  Paris,  to  open  secret  com- 
munications over  the  water  with  the  English.  He  did 
so,  and  offered  to  cross  and  explain  in  detail  to  their 
ministers.  I  wished  to  assure  them  in  London  that  I 
was  devoted  to  their  interests;  and  I  meant  to  offer 
to  let  the  Protestant  missionaries  establish  themselves 
in  the  mountain,  so  that  Sir  Canning  should  have  re- 
ceived instructions  to  support  my  nomination  by 
Riza.  Then  you  see,  I  should  have  had  the  Porte, 
England,  and  France.  The  game  was  won.  Can 
you  believe  it?  Lord  Aberdeen  enclosed  my  agent's 
letter  to  Guizot.     I  was  crushed.' 

'And  disgraced.  You  deserved  it.  You  never 
will  succeed.     Intrigue  will  be  your  ruin,   Fakredeen.' 

'Intrigue!'  exclaimed  the  prince,  starting  from  the 
cushion  near  the  tripod,  on  which  he  sat,  speaking 
with  great  animation  and  using,  as  was  his  custom, 
a  superfluity  of  expression,  both  of  voice  and  hands 
and  eyes,  'intrigue!  It  is  life!  It  is  the  only  thing! 
How  do  you  think  Guizot  and  Aberdeen  got  to  be 
ministers  without  intrigue?  Or  Riza  Pasha  himself? 
How  do  you  think  Mehemet  Ali  got  on?  Do  you 
believe  Sir  Canning  never  intrigues?  He  would  be 
recalled  in  a  week  if  he  did  not.  Why,  I  have  got 
one  of  his  spies  in  my  castle  at  this  moment,  and  I 
make  him  write  home  for  the  English  all  that  I  wish 
them  not  to  believe.  Intrigue!  Why,  England  won 
India   by   intrigue.     Do   you   think   they   are    not    in- 


TANCRED  49 

triguing  in  the  Punjaub  at  this  moment  ?  Intrigue 
has  gained  half  the  thrones  of  Europe:  Greece,  France, 
Belgium,  Portugal,  Spain,  Russia,  If  you  wish  to 
produce  a  result,  you  must  make  combinations;  and 
you  call  combinations,  Eva,  intrigue!' 

'And  this  is  the  scrape  that  you  are  in,'  said  the 
lady.     '1  do  not  see  how  I  can  help  you  out  of  it.' 

'Pardon;  this  is  not  the  scrape:  and  here  comes 
the  point  on  which  I  need  your  aid,  daughter  of  a 
thousand  sheikhs!  1  can  extricate  myself  from  the 
Paris  disaster,  even  turn  it  to  account.  I  have  made 
an  alliance  with  the  patriarch  of  the  Lebanon,  who 
manages  affairs  for  the  Emir  Bescheer.  The  patriarch 
hates  Murad,  whom  you  see  I  was  to  have  made 
patriarch.  I  am  to  declare  the  Archbishop  an  un- 
authorised agent,  an  adventurer,  and  my  letter  to  be 
a  forgery.  The  patriarch  is  to  go  to  Stamboul,  with 
his  long  white  beard,  and  put  me  right  with  France, 
through  De  Bourqueney,  with  whom  he  has  relations 
in  favour  of  the  Emir  Bescheer;  my  uncle  is  to  be 
thrown  over;  all  the  Maronite  chiefs  are  to  sign  a 
declaration  supplicating  the  Porte  to  institute  me; 
nay,  the  declaration  is  signed ' 

'And  the  Druses?  Will  not  this  Maronite  mani- 
festation put  you  wrong  with  the  Druses?' 

'I  live  among  the  Druses,  you  see,'  said  Fakre- 
deen,  shaking  his  head,  and  looking  with  his  glitter- 
ing eye  a  thousand  meanings.  'The  Druses  love  me. 
They  know  that  I  am  one  of  themselves.  They  will 
only  think  that    I  have  made  the  Maronites  eat  sand.' 

'And  what  have  you  really  done  for  the  Maronites 
to  gain  all  this?'  asked  the  lady,  quietly. 

'There  it  is,'  said  Fakredeen,  speaking  in  an  af- 
fected whisper,   '  the  greatest  stroke  of  state  that  ever 

10     B.  D.— 4 


50  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

entered  the  mind  of  a  king  without  a  kingdom,  for  I 
am  resolved  that  the  mountain  shall  be  a  royalty! 
You  remember  when  Ibrahim  Pasha  laid  his  plans  for 
disarming  the  Lebanon,  the  Maronites,  urged  by  their 
priests,  fell  into  the  snare,  while  the  Druses  wisely 
went  with  their  muskets  and  scimitars,  and  lived 
awhile  with  the  eagle  and  the  antelope.  This  has 
been  sand  to  the  Maronites  ever  since.  The  Druses 
put  their  tongues  in  their  cheek  whenever  they  meet, 
and  treat  them  as  so  many  women.  The  Porte,  of 
course,  will  do  nothing  for  the  Maronites;  they  even 
take  back  the  muskets  which  they  lent  them  for  the 
insurrection.  Well,  as  the  Porte  will  not  arm  them, 
I  have  agreed  to  do  it.' 

•You!' 

"Tis  done;  at  least  the  caravan  is  laden;  we  only 
want  a  guide.  And  this  is  why  1  am  at  Jerusalem. 
Scheriff  EfFendi,  who  met  me  here  yesterday,  has  got 
me  five  thousand  English  muskets,  and  1  have  ar- 
ranged with  the  Bedouin  of  Zoalia  to  carry  them  to 
the  mountain.' 

'You  have  indeed  Solomon's  signet,  my  dear  Fak- 
redeen.' 

'Would  that  I  had;  for  then  I  could  pay  two 
hundred  thousand  piastres  to  that  Egyptian  camel, 
Scheriff  Effendi,  and  he  would  give  me  up  my  mus- 
kets, which  now,  like  a  true  son  of  Eblis,  he  obstinately 
retains.' 

'  And  this  is  your  scrape,  Fakredeen.  And  how 
much  have  you  towards  the  sum?' 

'Not  a  piastre;  nor  do  I  suppose  I  shall  ever  see, 
until  I  make  a  great  financial  stroke,  so  much  of  the 
sultan's  gold  as  is  on  one  of  the  gilt  balls  of  roses  in 
your  nargileh.     My  crops  are  sold   for    next  year,  my 


TANCRED  51 

jewels  are  gone,  my  studs  are  to  be  broken  up.  There 
is  not  a  cur  in  the  streets  of  Beiroot  of  whom  I  have 
not  borrowed  money.  Riza  Pasha  is  a  sponge  that 
would  dry  the  sea  of  Galilee.' 

'  It  is  a  great  thing  to  have  gained  the  Patriarch 
of  Lebanon,'  said  the  lady;  '1  always  felt  that,  as  long 
as  that  man  was  against  you,  the  Maronites  never 
could  be  depended  on.  And  yet  these  arms;  after  all, 
they  are  of  no  use,  for  you  would  not  think  of  insur- 
rection ! ' 

'No;  but  they  can  quarrel  with  the  Druses,  and 
cut  each  other's  throats,  and  this  will  make  the 
mountain  more  unmanageable  than  ever,  and  the  Eng- 
lish will  have  no  customers  for  their  calicoes,  don't 
you  see?  Lord  Palmerston  will  arraign  the  minister 
in  the  council.  I  shall  pay  off  Aberdeen  for  enclosing 
the  Archbishop's  letter  to  Guizot.  Combination  upon 
combination!  The  calico  merchants  will  call  out  for 
a  prince  of  the  house  of  Shehaab!  Riza  will  propose 
me;  Bourqueney  will  not  murmur,  and  Sir  Canning, 
finding  he  is  in  a  mess,  will  sign  a  fine  note  of 
words  about  the  peace  of  Europe  and  the  prosperity 
of  Lebanon,  and  'tis  finished.' 

'And  my  father,  you  have  seen  him?' 

'1  have  seen  him,'  said  the  young  Emir,  and  he 
cast  his  eyes  on  the  ground. 

'He  has  done  so  much,'  said  Eva. 

'Ask  him  to  do  more.  Rose  of  Sharon,'  said  Fak- 
redeen,  like  a  child  about  to  cry  for  a  toy,  and  he 
threw  himself  on  his  knees  before  Eva,  and  kept  kiss- 
ing her  robe.  'Ask  him  to  do  more,'  he  repeated, 
in  a  suppressed  tone  of  heart-rending  cajolery;  'he 
can  refuse  you  nothing.  Ask  him,  ask  him,  Eva!  I 
have  no  friend  in  the  world  but   you;    1  am  so  deso- 


52  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

late.  You  have  always  been  my  friend,  my  counsellor, 
my  darling,  my  ruby,  my  pearl,  my  rose  of  Roc- 
nabad!  Ask  him,  Eva;  never  mind  my  faults;  you 
know  me  by  heart;  only  ask  him!' 

She  shook  her  head. 

'Tell  him  that  you  are  my  sister,  that  I  am  his 
son,  that  I  love  you  so,  that  I  love  him  so;  tell  him 
anything.  Say  that  he  ought  to  do  it  because  I  am 
a  Hebrew.' 

'A  what?'  said  Eva. 

'A  Hebrew;  yes,  a  Hebrew.  I  am  a  Hebrew  by 
blood,  and  we  all  are  by  faith.' 

'Thou  son  of  a  slave!'  exclaimed  the  lady,  'thou 
masquerade  of  humanity!  Christian  or  Mussulman, 
Pagan  or  Druse,  thou  mayest  figure  as;  but  spare  my 
race,  Fakredeen,  they  are  fallen ' 

'  But  not  so  base  as  I  am.  It  may  be  true,  but  I 
love  you,  Eva,  and  you  love  me;  and  if  1  had  as 
many  virtues  as  yourself,  you  could  not  love  me 
more;  perhaps  less.  Women  like  to  feel  their  su- 
periority; you  are  as  clever  as  I  am,  and  have  more 
judgment;  you  are  generous,  and  I  am  selfish;  hon- 
ourable, and  I  am  a  villain;  brave,  and  I  am  a  coward; 
rich,  and  I  am  poor.  Let  that  satisfy  you,  and  do 
not  trample  on  the  Allien;'  and  Fakredeen  took  her 
hand  and  bedewed  it  with  his  tears. 

'Dear  Fakredeen,'  said  Eva,  '1  thought  you  spoke 
in  jest,  as  I  did.' 

'  How  can  a  man  jest,  who  has  to  go  through 
what  I  endure!'  said  the  young  Emir,  in  a  despond- 
ing tone,  and  still  lying  at  her  feet.  'O,  my  more 
than  sister,  'tis  hell!  The  object  I  propose  to  myself 
would,  with  the  greatest  resources,  be  difficult;  and 
now  I  have  none.' 


TANCRED  S3 

'  Relinquish  it.' 

'When  I  am  young  and  ruined!  When  I  have  the 
two  greatest  stimulants  in  the  world  to  action,  Youth 
and  Debt!  No;  such  a  combination  is  never  to  be 
thrown  away.  Any  young  prince  ought  to  win  the 
Lebanon,  but  a  young  prince  in  debt  ought  to  con- 
quer the  world!'  and  the  Emir  sprang  from  the  floor, 
and  began  walking  about  the  apartment. 

'I  think,  Eva,'  he  said,  after  a  moment's  pause, 
and  speaking  in  his  usual  tone,  '  I  think  you  really 
might  do  something  with  your  father;  I  look  upon 
myself  as  his  son;  he  saved  my  life.  And  I  am  a  He- 
brew; I  was  nourished  by  your  mother's  breast,  her 
being  flows  in  my  veins;  and  independent  of  all  that, 
my  ancestor  was  the  standard-bearer  of  the  Prophet, 
and  the  Prophet  was  the  descendant  of  Ishmael,  and 
Ishmael  and  Israel  were  brothers.  I  really  think,  be- 
tween my  undoubted  Arabian  origin  and  being  your 
foster-brother,  that  1  may  be  looked  upon  as  a  Jew, 
and  that  your  father  might  do  something  for  me.' 

'  Whatever  my  father  will  do,  you  and  he  must 
decide  together,'  said  Eva;  'after  the  result  of  my 
last  interference,  I  promised  my  father  that  I  never 
would  speak  to  him  on  your  affairs  again;  and  you 
know,  therefore,  that  I  cannot.  You  ought  not  to 
urge  me,  Fakredeen.' 

'Ah!  you  are  angry  with  me,'  he  exclaimed,  and 
again  seated  himself  at  her  feet.  'You  were  saying 
in  your  heart,  he  is  the  most  selfish  of  beings.  It  is 
true,  I  am.  But  I  have  glorious  aspirations  at  least. 
I  am  not  content  to  live  like  my  fathers  in  a  beauti- 
ful palace,  amid  my  woods  and  mountains,  with 
Kochlani  steeds,  falcons  that  would  pull  down  an 
eagle,  and  nargilehs  of  rubies  and    emeralds.     I  want 


54  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

something  more  than  troops  of  beautiful  slaves,  music 
and  dances.  I  want  Europe  to  talk  of  me.  I  am 
wearied  of  hearing  nothing  but  Ibrahim  Pasha,  Louis 
Philippe,  and  Palmerston.  I,  too,  can  make  com- 
binations; and  I  am  of  a  better  family  than  all  three, 
for  Ibrahim  is  a  child  of  mud,  a  Bourbon  is  not 
equal  to  a  Shehaab,  and  Lord  Palmerston  only  sits  in 
the  Queen's  second  chamber  of  council,  as  I  well 
know  from  an  Englishman  who  was  at  Beiroot,  and 
with  whom  I  have  formed  some  political  relations,  of 
which  perhaps  some  day  you  will  hear.' 

'  Well,  we  have  arrived  at  a  stage  of  your  career, 
Fakredeen,  in  which  no  combination  presents  itself;  I 
am  powerless  to  assist  you;  my  resources,  never  very 
great,  are  quite  exhausted.' 

'No,'  said  the  Emir,  'the  game  is  yet  to  be  won. 
Listen,  Rose  of  Sharon,  for  this  is  really  the  point  on 
which  I  came  to  hold  counsel.  A  young  English  lord 
has  arrived  at  Jerusalem  this  week  or  ten  days  past; 
he  is  of  the  highest  dignity,  and  rich  enough  to  buy 
the  grand  bazaar  of  Damascus;  he  has  letters  of  credit 
on  your  father's  house  without  any  limit.  No  one 
can  discover  the  object  of  his  mission.  1  have  some 
suspicions;  there  is  also  a  French  officer  here  who 
never  speaks;  I  watch  them  both.  The  Englishman, 
I  learnt  this  morning,  is  going  to  Mount  Sinai.  It  is 
not  a  pilgrimage,  because  the  English  are  really  neither 
Jews  nor  Christians,  but  follow  a  sort  of  religion  of 
their  own,  which  is  made  every  year  by  their  bishops, 
one  of  whom  they  have  sent  to  Jerusalem,  in  what 
they  call  a  parliament,  a  college  of  muftis;  you  under- 
stand. Now  lend  me  that  ear  that  is  like  an  almond 
of  Aleppo!  I  propose  that  one  of  the  tribes  that  obey 
your  grandfather  shall  make  this  Englishman   prisoner 


TANCRED  55 

as  he  traverses  the  desert.  You  see?  Ah!  Rose  of 
Sharon,  I  am  not  yet  beat;  your  Fakredeen  is  not  the 
baffled  boy  that,  a  few  minutes  ago,  you  looked  as  if 
you  thought  him.  I  defy  Ibrahim,  or  the  King  of 
France,  or  Palmerston  himself,  to  make  a  combination 
superior  to  this.  What  a  ransom!  The  English  lord 
will  pay  Scherifif  Effendi  for  his  five  thousand 
muskets,  and  for  their  conveyance  to  the  mountain 
besides.' 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 


Besso,  the  Banker. 

N  ONE  of  those  civil  broils  at  Da- 
mascus which  preceded  the  fail  of 
the  Janissaries,  an  Emir  of  the 
house  of  Shehaab,  who  lost  his  life 
in  the  fray,  had,  in  the  midst  of 
the  convulsion,  placed  his  infant  son 
in  the  charge  of  the  merchant  Besso,  a  child  most 
dear  to  him,  not  only  because  the  babe  was  his  heir, 
but  because  his  wife,  whom  he  passionately  loved,  a 
beautiful  lady  of  Antioch  and  of  one  of  the  old  families 
of  the  country,  had  just  sacrificed  her  life  in  giving 
birth  to  their  son. 

The  wife  of  Besso  placed  the  orphan  infant  at  her 
own  breast,  and  the  young  Fakredeen  was  brought 
up  in  every  respect  as  a  child  of  the  house;  so  that, 
for  some  time,  he  looked  upon  the  little  Eva,  who 
was  three  years  younger  than  himself,  as  his  sister. 
When  Fakredeen  had  attained  an  age  of  sufficient 
intelligence  for  the  occasion  and  the  circumstances, 
his  real  position  was  explained  to  him;  but  he  was 
still  too  young  for  the  communication  to  effect  any 
change  in  his  feelings,  and  the  idea  that  Eva  was  not 
his  sister  only  occasioned  him  sorrow,  until  his  grief 
(56') 


TANCRED  57 

was  forgotten  when  he  found  that  the  change  made 
no  difference  in  their  lives  or  their  love. 

Soon  after  the  violent  death  of  the  father  of  Fak- 
redeen,  affairs  had  become  more  tranquil,  and  Besso 
had  not  neglected  the  interests  of  his  charge.  The 
infant  was  heir  to  a  large  estate  in  the  Lebanon;  a 
fine  castle,  an  illimitable  forest,  and  cultivated  lands, 
whose  produce,  chiefly  silk,  afforded  a  revenue  suf- 
ficient to  maintain  the  not  inconsiderable  state  of  a 
mountain  prince. 

When  Fakredeen  was  about  ten  years  of  age,  his 
relative  the  Emir  Bescheer,  who  then  exercised  a 
sovereign  and  acknowledged  sway  over  all  the  tribes 
of  the  Lebanon,  whatever  their  religion  or  race,  signi- 
fied his  pleasure  that  his  kinsman  should  be  educated 
at  his  court,  in  the  company  of  his  sons.  So  Fakredeen, 
with  many  tears,  quitted  his  happy  home  at  Damascus, 
and  proceeded  to  Beteddeen,  the  beautiful  palace  of 
his  uncle,  situate  among  the  mountains  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Beiroot.  This  was  about  the  time  that 
the  Egyptians  were  effecting  the  conquest  of  Syria, 
and  both  the  Emir  Bescheer,  the  head  of  the  house 
of  Shehaab  as  well  as  Prince  of  the  Mountain,  and 
the  great  commercial  confederation  of  the  brothers 
Besso,  had  declared  in  favour  of  the  invader,  and  were 
mainly  instrumental  to  the  success  of  Mehemet  Ali. 
Political  sympathy,  and  the  feelings  of  mutual  depend- 
ence which  united  the  Emir  Bescheer  and  the 
merchant  of  Damascus,  rendered  the  communications 
between  the  families  so  frequent  that  it  was  not 
difficult  for  the  family  of  Besso  to  cherish  those  senti- 
ments of  affection  which  were  strong  and  lively  in 
the  heart  of  the  young  Fakredeen,  but  which,  under 
any  circumstances,  depend  so  much  on  sustained  per- 


58  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

sonal  intercourse.  Eva  saw  a  great  deal  of  her  former 
brother,  and  there  subsisted  between  them  a  romantic 
friendship.  He  was  their  frequent  guest  at  Damascus 
and  was  proud  to  show  her  how  he  excelled  in  his 
martial  exercises,  how  skilful  he  was  with  his  falcon, 
and  what  horses  of  pure  race  he  proudly  rode. 

In  the  year  '39,  Fakredeen  being  then  fifteen  years 
of  age,  the  country  entirely  tranquil,  even  if  discon- 
tented, occupied  by  a  disciplined  army  of  80,000  men, 
commanded  by  captains  equal  it  was  supposed  to  any 
conjuncture,  the  Egyptians  openly  encouraged  by  the 
greatest  military  nation  of  Europe,  the  Turks  power- 
less, and  only  secretly  sustained  by  the  countenance 
of  the  ambassador  of  the  weakest  government  that 
ever  tottered  in  England,  a  government  that  had 
publicly  acknowledged  that  it  had  forfeited  the  confi- 
dence of  the  Parliament  which  yet  it  did  not  dissolve; 
everything  being  thus  in  a  state  of  flush  and  affluent 
prosperity,  and  both  the  house  of  Shehaab  and  the 
house  of  Besso  feeling,  each  day  more  strongly, 
how  discreet  and  how  lucky  they  had  been  in  the 
course  which  they  had  adopted,  came  the  great  Syrian 
crash ! 

Whatever  difference  of  opinion  may  exist  as  to  the 
policy  pursued  by  the  foreign  minister  of  England, 
with  respect  to  the  settlement  of  the  Turkish  Empire 
in  1840-41,  none  can  be  permitted,  by  those,  at  least, 
competent  to  decide  upon  such  questions,  as  to  the 
ability  with  which  that  policy  was  accomplished. 
When  we  consider  the  position  of  the  minister  at 
home,  not  only  deserted  by  Parliament,  but  aban- 
doned by  his  party  and  even  forsaken  by  his  colleagues; 
the  military  occupation  of  Syria  by  the  Egyptians;  the 
rabid    demonstration    of  France;    that    an    accident    of 


TANCRED  59 

time  or  space,  the  delay  of  a  month  or  the  gathering 
of  a  storm,  might  alone  have  baffled  all  his  combina- 
tions, it  is  difficult  to  fix  upon  a  page  in  the  history 
of  this  country  which  records  a  superior  instance  of 
moral  intrepidity.  The  bold  conception  and  the  bril- 
liant performance  were  worthy  of  Chatham;  but  the 
domestic  difficulties  with  which  Lord  Palmerston  had 
to  struggle  place  the  exploit  beyond  the  happiest 
achievement  of  the  elder  Pitt.  Throughout  the  mem- 
orable conjuncture.  Lord  Palmerston,  however,  had 
one  great  advantage,  which  was  invisible  to  the  mil- 
lions; he  was  served  by  a  most  vigilant  and  able 
diplomacy.  The  superiority  of  his  information  con- 
cerning the  state  of  Syria  to  that  furnished  to  the 
French  minister  was  the  real  means  by  which  he 
baffled  the  menaced  legions  of  our  neighbours.  A 
timid  Secretary  of  State  in  the  position  of  Lord  Palm- 
erston, even  with  such  advantages,  might  have  fal- 
tered; but  the  weapon  was  placed  in  the  hands  of  one 
who  did  not  shrink  from  its  exercise,  and  the  expul- 
sion of  the  Egyptians  from  Turkey  remains  a  great 
historic  monument  alike  of  diplomatic  skill  and  ad- 
ministrative energy. 

The  rout  of  the  Egyptians  was  fatal  to  the  Emir 
Bescheer,  and  it  seemed  also,  for  a  time,  to  the  Da- 
mascus branch  of  the  family  of  Besso.  But  in  these 
days  a  great  capitalist  has  deeper  roots  than  a  sover- 
eign prince,  unless  he  is  very  legitimate.  The  Prince 
of  the  Mountain  and  his  sons  were  summoned  from 
their  luxurious  and  splendid  Beteddeen  to  Constanti- 
nople, where  they  have  ever  since  remained  prisoners. 
Young  Fakredeen,  the  moment  he  heard  of  the  fall  of 
Acre,  rode  out  with  his  falcon,  as  if  for  the  pastime 
of  a  morning,  and  the  moment   he    was   out  of  sight 


6o  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

made  for  the  desert,  and  never  rested  until  he  reached 
the  tents  of  the  children  of  Rechab,  where  he  placed 
himself  under  the  protection  of  the  grandfather  of  Eva. 

As  for  the  merchant  himself,  having  ships  at  his 
command,  he  contrived  to  escape  with  his  wife 
and  his  young  daughter  to  Trieste,  and  he  remained 
in  the  Austrian  dominions  between  three  and  four 
years.  At  length  the  influence  of  Prince  Metternich, 
animated  by  Sidonia,  propitiated  the  Porte.  Adam 
Besso.  after  making  his  submission  at  Stamboul,  and 
satisfactorily  explaining  his  conduct  to  Riza  Pasha,  re- 
turned to  his  country,  not  substantially  injured  in  for- 
tune, though  the  northern  clime  had  robbed  him  of 
his  Arabian  wife;  for  his  brothers,  who,  as  far  as 
politics  were  concerned,  had  ever  kept  in  the  shade, 
had  managed  affairs  in  the  absence  of  the  more  promi- 
nent member  of  their  house,  and,  in  truth,  the  family 
of  Besso  were  too  rich  to  be  long  under  a  cloud.  The 
Pasha  of  Damascus  found  his  revenue  fall  very  short 
without  their  interference;  and  as  for  the  Divan,  the 
Bessoes  could  always  find  a  friend  there  if  they  chose. 
The  awkwardness  of  the  Syrian  catastrophe  was,  that 
it  was  so  sudden  and  so  unexpected  that  there 
was  then  no  time  for  those  satisfactory  explanations 
which  afterwards  took  place  between  Adam  Besso 
and  Riza. 

Though  the  situation  of  Besso  remained,  therefore, 
unchanged  after  the  subsidence  of  the  Syrian  agita- 
tion, the  same  circumstance  could  not  be  predicated 
of  the  position  of  his  foster-child.  Fakredeen  pos- 
sessed all  the  qualities  of  the  genuine  Syrian  charac- 
ter in  excess;  vain,  susceptible,  endowed  with  a 
brilliant  though  frothy  imagination,  and  a  love  of  action 
so   unrestrained    that    restlessness    deprived    it   of  en- 


TANCRED  6i 

ergy,  with  so  fine  a  taste  that  he  was  always 
capricious,  and  so  ingenious  that  he  seemed  ever  in- 
consistent. His  ambition  was  as  high  as  his  appre- 
hension was  quick.  He  saw  everything  and  understood 
everybody  in  a  flash;  and  believed  that  everything 
that  was  said  or  done  ought  to  be  made  to  contribute 
to  his  fortunes.  Educated  in  the  sweet  order,  and 
amid  the  decorous  virtues  of  the  roof  of  Besso,  Fak- 
redeen,  who,  from  his  susceptibility,  took  the  colour 
of  his  companions,  even  when  he  thought  they  were 
his  tools,  had  figured  for  ten  years  as  a  soft-hearted 
and  somewhat  timid  child,  dependent  on  kind  words, 
and  returning  kindness  with  a  passionate  affection. 

His  change  to  the  palace  of  his  uncle  developed 
his  native  qualities,  which,  under  any  accidents,  could 
not  perhaps  have  been  long  restrained,  but  which  the 
circumstances  of  the  times  brought  to  light,  and  ma- 
tured with  a  celerity  peculiar  to  the  East.  The  char- 
acter of  Fakredeen  was  formed  amid  the  excitement 
of  the  Syrian  invasion  and  its  stirring  consequences. 
At  ten  years  of  age  he  was  initiated  in  all  the  mys- 
teries of  political  intrigue.  His  startling  vivacity  and 
the  keen  relish  of  his  infant  intelligence  for  all  the  pas- 
sionate interests  of  men  amused  and  sometimes  de- 
lighted his  uncle.  Everything  was  spoken  before 
him;  he  lived  in  the  centre  of  intrigues  which  were 
to  shake  thrones,  and  perhaps  to  form  them.  He 
became  habituated  to  the  idea  that  everything  could 
be  achieved  by  dexterity,  and  that  there  was  no  test 
of  conduct  except  success.  To  dissemble  and  to 
simulate;  to  conduct  confidential  negotiations  with 
contending  powers  and  parties  at  the  same  time;  to 
be  ready  to  adopt  any  opinion  and  to  possess  none; 
to   fall    into    the    public   humour  of  the  moment,  and 


62  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

to  evade  the  impending  catastrophe;  to  look  upon 
every  man  as  a  tool,  and  never  do  anything  which 
had  not  a  definite  though  circuitous  purpose;  these 
were  his  pohtical  accomplishments;  and,  while  he 
recognised  them  as  the  best  means  of  success,  he 
found  in  their  exercise  excitement  and  delight.  To 
be  the  centre  of  a  maze  of  manoeuvres  was  his  em- 
pyrean.    He  was  never  without  a  resource. 

Stratagems  came  to  him  as  naturally  as  fruit 
comes  to  a  tree.  He  lived  in  a  labyrinth  of  plans, 
and  he  rejoiced  to  involve  some  one  in  the  perplexi- 
ties which  his  magic  touch  could  alone  unravel. 
Fakredeen  had  no  principle  of  any  kind;  he  had  not 
a  prejudice;  a  little  superstition,  perhaps,  like  his 
postponing  his  journey  because  a  hare  crossed  his 
path.  But,  as  for  life  and  conduct  in  general,  form- 
ing his  opinions  from  the  great  men  of  whom  he 
had  experience,  princes,  pashas,  and  some  others, 
and  from  the  great  transactions  with  which  he  was 
connected,  he  was  convinced  that  all  was  a  matter 
of  force  or  fraud.  Fakredeen  preferred  the  latter,  be- 
cause it  was  more  ingenious,  and  because  he  was  of 
a  kind  and  passionate  temperament,  loving  beauty 
and  the  beautiful,  apt  to  idealise  everything,  and  of 
too  exquisite  a  taste  not  to  shrink  with  horror  from 
an  unnecessary  massacre. 

Though  it  was  his  profession  and  his  pride  to 
simulate  and  to  dissemble,  he  had  a  native  ingenu- 
ousness which  was  extremely  awkward  and  very 
surprising,  for,  the  moment  he  was  intimate  with 
you,  he  told  you  everything.  Though  he  intended  to 
make  a  person  his  tool,  and  often  succeeded,  such 
was  his  susceptibility,  and  so  strong  were  his  sympa- 
thetic qualities,  that  he  was   perpetually,  without   be- 


TANCRED  63 

ing  aware  of  it,  showing  his  cards.  The  victim 
thought  himself  safe,  but  the  teeming  resources  of 
Fakredeen  were  never  wanting,  and  some  fresh  and 
brilliant  combination,  as  he  styled  it,  often  secured 
the  prey  which  so  heedlessly  he  had  nearly  forfeited. 
Recklessness  with  him  was  a  principle  of  action.  He 
trusted  always  to  his  fertile  expedients  if  he  failed, 
and  ran  the  risk  in  the  meanwhile  of  paramount  suc- 
cess, the  fortune  of  those  who  are  entitled  to  be  rash. 
With  all  his  audacity,  which  was  nearly  equal  to  his 
craft,  he  had  no  moral  courage;  and,  if  affairs  went 
wrong,  and,  from  some  accident,  exhaustion  of  the 
nervous  system,  the  weather,  or  some  of  those  slight 
causes  which  occasionally  paralyse  the  creative  mind, 
he  felt  without  a  combination,  he  would  begin  to  cry 
like  a  child,  and  was  capable  of  any  action,  however 
base  and  humiliating,  to  extricate  himself  from  the 
impending  disaster. 

Fakredeen  had  been  too  young  to  have  fatally 
committed  himself  during  the  Egyptian  occupation. 
The  moment  he  found  that  the  Emir  Bescheer  and 
his  sons  were  prisoners  at  Constantinople,  he  re- 
turned to  Syria,  lived  quietly  at  his  own  castle,  af- 
fected popularity  among  the  neighbouring  chieftains, 
who  were  pleased  to  see  a  Shehaab  among  them,  and 
showed  himself  on  every  occasion  a  most  loyal  sub- 
ject of  the  Porte.  At  seventeen  years  of  age,  Fakre- 
deen was  at  the  head  of  a  powerful  party,  and  had 
opened  relations  with  the  Divan.  The  Porte  looked 
upon  him  with  confidence,  and  although  they  in- 
tended, if  possible,  to  govern  Lebanon  in  future  them- 
selves, a  young  prince  of  a  great  house,  and  a  young 
prince  so  perfectly  free  from  all  disagreeable  ante- 
cedents, was  not  to  be  treated  lightly.     All  the   lead- 


64  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

ers  of  all  the  parties  of  the  mountain  frequented  the 
castle  of  Fakredeen,  and  each  secretly  believed  that 
the  prince  was  his  pupil  and  his  tool.  There  was 
not  one  of  these  men,  grey  though  some  of  them 
were  in  years  and  craft,  whom  the  innocent  and  in- 
genuous Fakredeen  did  not  bend  as  a  nose  of  wax, 
and,  when  Adam  Besso  returned  to  Syria  in  '43,  he 
found  his  foster-child  by  far  the  most  considerable 
person  in  the  country,  and  all  parties  amid  their 
doubts  and  distractions  looking  up  to  him  with  hope 
and  confidence.  He  was  then  nineteen  years  of  age, 
and  Eva  was  sixteen.  Fakredeen  came  instantly  to 
Damascus  to  welcome  them,  hugged  Besso,  wept 
like  a  child  over  his  sister,  sat  up  the  whole  night 
on  the  terrace  of  their  house  smoking  his  nargileh, 
and  telling  them  all  his  secrets  without  the  slightest 
reserve:  the  most  shameful  actions  of  his  career  as 
well  as  the  most  brilliant;  and  finally  proposed  to 
Besso  to  raise  a  loan  for  the  Lebanon,  ostensibly  to 
promote  the  cultivation  of  mulberries,  really  to  sup- 
ply arms  to  the  discontented  population  who  were  to 
make  Fakredeen  and  Eva  sovereigns  of  the  mountain. 
It  will  have  been  observed,  that  to  supply  the 
partially  disarmed  tribes  of  the  mountain  with  weap- 
ons was  still,  though  at  intervals,  the  great  project  of 
Fakredeen,  and  to  obtain  the  result  in  his  present 
destitution  of  resources  involved  him  in  endless  strat- 
agems. His  success  would  at  the  same  time  bind 
the  tribes,  already  well  affected  to  him,  with  unalter- 
able devotion  to  a  chief  capable  of  such  an  undenia- 
ble act  of  sovereignty,  and  of  course  render  them 
proportionately  more  efficient  instruments  in  accom- 
plishing his  purpose.  It  was  the  interest  of  Fakredeen 
that  the    Lebanon    should   be  powerful  and  disturbed. 


TANCRED  6s 

Besso,  who  had  often  befriended  him,  and  who  had 
frequently  rescued  him  from  the  usurers  of  Beiroot  and 
Sidon,  lent  a  cold  ear  to  these  suggestions.  The 
great  merchant  was  not  inchned  again  to  embark  in 
a  political  career,  or  pass  another  three  or  four  years 
away  from  his  Syrian  palaces  and  gardens.  He  had 
seen  the  most  powerful  head  that  the  East  had  pro- 
duced for  a  century,  backed  by  vast  means,  and  after 
having  apparently  accomplished  his  purpose,  ulti- 
mately recoil  before  the  superstitious  fears  of  Chris- 
tendom, lest  any  change  in  Syria  should  precipitate 
the  solution  of  the  great  Eastern  problem.  He  could 
not  believe  that  it  was  reserved  for  Fakredeen  to  suc- 
ceed in  that  which  had  baffled  Mehemet  Ali. 

Eva  took  the  more  sanguine  view  that  becomes 
youth  and  woman.  She  had  faith  in  Fakredeen. 
Though  his  position  was  not  as  powerful  as  that  of 
the  great  viceroy,  it  was,  in  her  opinion,  more  legiti- 
mate. He  seemed  indicated  as  the  natural  ruler  of 
the  mountain.  She  had  faith,  too,  in  his  Arabian  ori- 
gin. With  Eva,  what  is  called  society  assumed  the 
character  of  a  continual  struggle  between  Asia  and 
the  North.  She  dreaded  the  idea  that,  after  having 
escaped  the  crusaders,  Syria  should  fall  first  under 
the  protection,  and  then  the  colonisation  of  some 
European  power.  A  link  was  wanted  in  the  chain  of 
resistance  which  connected  the  ranges  of  Caucasus 
with  the  Atlas.  She  idealised  her  foster-brother  into 
a  hero,  and  saw  his  standard  on  Mount  Lebanon,  the 
beacon  of  the  oriental  races,  like  the  spear  of  Shami, 
or  the  pavilion  of  Abd-el-Kader.  Eva  had  often  in- 
fluenced her  father  for  the  advantage  of  Fakredeen, 
but  at  last  even  Eva  felt  that  she  should  sue  in  vain. 

A    year  before,    involved    in    difficulties    which    it 


66  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

seemed  no  combination  could  control,  and  having 
nearly  occasioned  the  occupation  of  Syria  by  a  united 
French  and  English  force,  Fakredeen  burst  out  a-cry- 
ing  like  a  little  boy,  and  came  whimpering  to  Eva, 
as  if  somebody  had  broken  his  toy  or  given  him  a 
beating.  Then  it  was  that  Eva  had  obtained  for  him 
a  final  assistance  from  her  father,  the  condition  being, 
that  this  application  should  be  the  last. 

Eva  had  given  him  jewels,  had  interested  other 
members  of  her  family  in  his  behalf,  and  effected  for 
him  a  thousand  services,  which  only  a  kind-hearted 
and  quick-witted  woman  could  devise.  While  Fakre- 
deen plundered  her  without  scruple  and  used  her 
without  remorse,  he  doted  on  her;  he  held  her  intel- 
lect in  absolute  reverence;  a  word  from  her  guided 
him;  a  look  of  displeasure,  and  his  heart  ached.  As 
long  as  he  was  under  the  influence  of  her  presence, 
he  really  had  no  will,  scarcely  an  idea  of  his  own. 
He  spoke  only  to  elicit  her  feelings  and  opinions.  He 
had  a  superstition  that  she  was  born  under  a  fortu- 
nate star,  and  that  it  was  fatal  to  go  counter  to  her. 
But  the  moment  he  was  away,  he  would  disobey, 
deceive,  and,  if  necessary,  betray  her,  loving  her  the 
same  all  the  time.  But  what  was  to  be  expected 
from  one  whose  impressions  were  equally  quick  and 
vivid,  who  felt  so  much  for  himself,  and  so  much  for 
others,  that  his  life  seemed  a  perpetual  re-action  be- 
tween intense  selfishness  and  morbid  sensibility  ? 

Had  Fakredeen  married  Eva,  the  union  might  have 
given  him  some  steadiness  of  character,  or  at  least 
its  semblance.  The  young  Emir  had  greatly  desired 
this  alliance,  not  for  the  moral  purpose  that  we  have 
intimated,  not  even  from  love  of  Eva,  for  he  was  to- 
tally   insensible    to    domestic    joys,    but    because    he 


TANCRED  67 

wished  to  connect  himself  with  great  capitalists,  and 
hoped  to  gain  the  Lebanon  loan  for  a  dower.  But 
this  alliance  was  quite  out  of  the  question.  The  hand 
of  Eva  was  destined,  according  to  the  custom  of  the 
family,  for  her  cousin,  the  eldest  son  of  Basso  of 
Aleppo.  The  engagement  had  been  entered  into  while 
she  was  at  Vienna,  and  it  was  then  agreed  that  the 
marriage  should  take  place  soon  after  she  had  com- 
pleted her  eighteenth  year.  The  ceremony  was  there- 
fore at  hand;  it  was  to  occur  within  a  few  months. 

Accustomed  from  an  early  period  of  life  to  the 
contemplation  of  this  union,  it  assumed  in  the  eyes 
of  Eva  a  character  as  natural  as  that  of  birth  or  death. 
It  never  entered  her  head  to  ask  herself  whether  she 
liked  or  disliked  it.  It  was  one  of  those  inevitable 
things  of  which  we  are  always  conscious,  yet  of 
which  we  never  think,  like  the  years  of  our  life  or 
the  colour  of  our  hair.  Had  her  destiny  been  in  her 
own  hands,  it  is  probable  that  she  would  not  have 
shared  it  with  Fakredeen,  for  she  had  never  for  an 
instant  entertained  the  wish  that  there  should  be  any 
change  in  the  relations  which  subsisted  between 
them.  According  to  the  custom  of  the  country,  it 
was  to  Besso  that  Fakredeen  had  expressed  his  wishes 
and  his  hopes.  The  young  Emir  made  liberal  offers: 
his  wife  and  children  might  follow  any  religion  they 
pleased;  nay,  he  was  even  ready  to  conform  himself 
to  any  which  they  fixed  upon.  He  attempted  to  daz- 
zle Besso  with  the  prospect  of  a  Hebrew  Prince  of  the 
Mountains.  'My  daughter,'  said  the  merchant,  'would 
certainly,  under  any  circumstances,  marry  one  of  her 
own  faith;  but  we  need  not  say  another  word  about 
it;  she  is  betrothed,  and  has  been  engaged  for  some 
years,  to  her  cousin.' 


68  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

When  Fakredeen,  during  his  recent  visit  to  Beth- 
any, found  that  Eva,  notwithstanding  her  Bedouin 
blood,  received  his  proposition  for  kidnapping  a  young 
English  nobleman  with  the  utmost  alarm  and  even 
horror,  he  immediately  relinquished  it,  diverted  her 
mind  from  the  contemplation  of  a  project  on  her  dis- 
approval of  which,  notwithstanding  his  efforts  at  dis- 
traction, she  seemed  strangely  to  dwell,  and  finally 
presented  her  with  a  new  and  more  innocent  scheme 
in  which  he  required  her  assistance.  According  to 
Fakredeen,  his  new  English  acquaintance  at  Beiroot, 
whom  he  had  before  quoted,  was  ready  to  assist  him 
in  the  fulfilment  of  his  contract,  provided  he  could 
obtain  sufficient  time  from  Scheriff  Effendi;  and  what 
he  wished  Eva  to  do  was  personally  to  request  the 
Egyptian  merchant  to  grant  time  for  this  indulgence. 
This  did  not  seem  to  Eva  an  unreasonable  favour  for 
her  foster-brother  to  obtain,  though  she  could  easily 
comprehend  why  his  previous  irregularities  might 
render  him  an  unsuccessful  suitor  to  his  creditor. 
Glad  that  it  was  still  in  her  power  in  some  degree  to 
assist  him,  and  that  his  present  project  was  at  least 
a  harmless  one,  Eva  offered  the  next  day  to  repair  to 
the  city  and  see  Scheriff  Eflfendi  on  his  business. 
Pressing  her  hand  to  his  heart,  and  saluting  her  with 
a  thousand  endearing  names,  the  Emir  quitted  the 
Rose  of  Sharon  with  the  tears  in  his  grateful  eyes. 

Now  the  exact  position  of  Fakredeen  was  this:  he 
had  induced  the  Egyptian  merchant  to  execute  the 
contract  for  him  by  an  assurance  that  Besso  would  be 
his  security  for  the  venture,  although  the  peculiar 
nature  of  the  transaction  rendered  it  impossible  for 
Besso,  in  his  present  delicate  position,  personally  to 
interfere   in   it.     To    keep  up  appearances,   Fakredeen, 


TANCRED  69 

with  his  usual  audacious  craft,  had  appointed  Scheriff 
Effendi  to  meet  him  at  Jerusalem,  at  the  house  of 
Besso,  for  the  completion  of  the  contract;  and  accord- 
ingly, on  the  afternoon  of  the  day  preceding  his  visit 
to  Bethany,  Fakredeen  had  arrived  at  Jerusalem  with- 
out money,  and  without  credit,  in  order  to  purchase 
arms  for  a  province. 

The  greatness  of  the  conjuncture,  the  delightful 
climate,  his  sanguine  temperament,  combined,  how- 
ever, to  sustain  him.  As  he  traversed  his  delicious 
mountains,  with  their  terraces  of  mulberries,  and 
olives,  and  vines,  lounged  occasionally  for  a  short 
time  at  the  towns  on  the  coast,  and  looked  in  at 
some  of  his  creditors  to  chatter  charming  delusions, 
or  feel  his  way  for  a  new  combination  most  neces- 
sary at  this  moment,  his  blood  was  quick  and  his 
brain  creative;  and  although  he  had  ridden  nearly  two 
hundred  miles  when  he  arrived  at  the  'Holy  City,'  he 
was  fresh  and  full  of  faith  that  'something  would 
turn  up.'  His  Egyptian  friend,  awfully  punctual,  was 
the  first  figure  that  welcomed  him  as  he  entered  the 
divan  of  Besso,  where  the  young  Emir  remained  in 
the  position  which  we  have  described,  smoking  inter- 
minable nargilehs  while  he  revolved  his  affairs,  until 
the  conversation  respecting  the  arrival  of  Tancred 
roused  him  from  his  brooding  meditation. 

It  was  not  difficult  to  avoid  Scheriff  Effendi  for  a 
while.  The  following  morning,  Fakredeen  passed  half 
a  dozen  hours  at  the  bath,  and  then  made  his  visit 
to  Eva  with  the  plot  which  had  occurred  to  him  the 
night  before  at  the  divan,  and  which  had  been  ma- 
tured this  day  while  they  were  shampooing  him. 
The  moment  that,  baffled,  he  again  arrived  at  Jeru- 
salem, he  sought  his  Egyptian  merchant,  and  thus  ad- 


70  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

dressed  him:  'You  see,  Effendi,  that  you  must  not 
talk  on  this  business  to  Besso,  nor  can  Besso  talk  to 
you  about  it.' 

'Good!'  said  the  Effendi. 

'  But,  if  it  be  managed  by  another  person  to  your 
satisfaction,  it  will  be  as  well.' 

'One  grain  is  like  another.' 

'  It  will  be  managed  by  another  person  to  your 
satisfaction.' 

'Good!' 

'The  Rose  of  Sharon  is  the  same  in  this  business 
as  her  father?' 

'  He  is  a  ruby  and  she  is  a  pearl.' 

'The  Rose  of  Sharon  will  see  you  to-morrow 
about  this  business.' 

'  Good! ' 

'The  Rose  of  Sharon  may  ask  you  for  time  to 
settle  everything;  she  has  to  communicate  with  other 
places.     You  have  heard  of  such  a  city  as  Aleppo?' 

'If  Damascus  be  an  eye,  Aleppo  is  an  ear.' 

'Don't  trouble  the  Rose  of  Sharon,  Effendi,  with 
any  details  if  she  speaks  to  you;  but  be  content  with 
all  she  proposes.  She  will  ask,  perhaps,  for  three 
months;  women  are  nervous;  they  think  robbers  may 
seize  the  money  on  its  way,  or  the  key  of  the  chest 
may  not  be  found  when  it  is  wanted;  you  under- 
stand? Agree  to  what  she  proposes;  but,  between 
ourselves,  1  will  meet  you  at  Gaza  on  the  day  of  the 
new  moon,  and  it  is  finished.' 

'Good.' 

Faithful  to  her  promise,  at  an  early  hour  of  the 
morrow,  Eva,  wrapped  in  a  huge  and  hooded  Arab 
cloak,  so  that  her  form  could  not  in  the  slightest 
degree  be  traced,  her  face  covered  with  a  black  Arab 


TANCRED 


71 


mask,  mounted  her  horse;  her  two  female  attendants, 
habited  in  the  same  manner,  followed  their  mistress; 
before  whom  marched  her  janissary  armed  to  the 
teeth,  while  four  Arab  grooms  walked  on  each  side 
of  the  cavalcade.  In  this  way,  they  entered  Jeru- 
salem by  the  gate  of  Sion,  and  proceeded  to  the 
house  of  Besso.  Fakredeen  watched  her  arrival.  He 
was  in  due  time  summoned  to  her  presence,  where 
he  learned  the  success  of  her  mission. 

'ScherifT  EfTendi,'  she  said,  'has  agreed  to  keep 
the  arms  for  three  months,  you  paying  the  usual  rate 
of  interest  on  the  money.  This  is  but  just.  May 
your  new  friend  at  Beiroot  be  more  powerful  than  I 
am,  and  as  faithful! ' 

'Beautiful  Rose  of  Sharon!  who  can  be  like  you! 
You  inspire  me;  you  always  do.  I  feel  persuaded 
that  1  shall  get  the  money  long  before  the  time  has 
elapsed,'  And,  so  saying,  he  bade  her  farewell,  to 
return,  as  he  said,  without  loss  of  time  to  Beiroot. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 


Capture  of  the  New  Crusader. 

HE  dawn  was  about  to  break  in  a 
cloudless  sky,  when  Tancred,  ac- 
companied by  Baroni  and  two  serv- 
ants, all  well  armed  and  well 
mounted,  and  by  Hassan,  a  sheikh 
of  the  Jellaheen  Bedouins,  tall  and 
grave,  with  a  long  spear  tufted  with  ostrich  feathers 
in  his  hand,  his  musket  slung  at  his  back,  and  a 
scimitar  at  his  side,  quitted  Jerusalem  by  the  gate  of 
Bethlehem. 

If  it  were  only  to  see  the  sun  rise,  or  to  become 
acquainted  with  nature  at  hours  excluded  from  the 
experience  of  civilisation,  it  were  worth  while  to  be 
a  traveller.  There  is  something  especially  in  the  hour 
that  precedes  a  Syrian  dawn,  which  invigorates  the 
frame  and  elevates  the  spirit.  One  cannot  help  fancy- 
ing that  angels  may  have  been  resting  on  the  moun- 
tain tops  during  the  night,  the  air  is  so  sweet  and 
the  earth  so  still.  Nor,  when  it  wakes,  does  it  wake 
to  the  maddening  cares  of  Europe.  The  beauty  of  a 
patriarchal  repose  still  lingers  about  its  existence  in 
spite  of  its  degradation.  Notwithstanding  all  they 
have   suffered    during   the  European  development,  the 

(7=) 


TANCRED  73 

manners  of  the  Asiatic  races  generally  are  more  in 
harmony  with  nature  than  the  complicated  conven- 
tionalisms which  harass  their  fatal  rival,  and  which 
have  increased  in  exact  proportion  as  the  Europeans 
have  seceded  from  those  Arabian  and  Syrian  creeds 
that  redeemed  them  from  their  primitive  barbarism. 

But  the  light  breaks,  the  rising  beam  falls  on  the 
gazelles  still  bounding  on  the  hills  of  Judah,  and 
gladdens  the  partridge  which  still  calls  among  the  ra- 
vines, as  it  did  in  the  days  of  the  prophets.  About 
half-way  between  Jerusalem  and  Bethlehem,  Tancred 
and  his  companions  halted  at  the  tomb  of  Rachel: 
here  awaited  them  a  chosen  band  of  twenty  stout 
Jellaheens,  the  subjects  of  Sheikh  Hassan,  their  escort 
through  the  wildernesses  of  Arabia  Petraea.  The  fringed 
and  ribbed  kerchief  of  the  desert,  which  must  be 
distinguished  from  the  turban,  and  is  woven  by  their 
own  women  from  the  hair  of  the  camel,  covered  the 
heads  of  the  Bedouins;  a  short  white  gown,  also  of 
home  manufacture,  and  very  rude,  with  a  belt  of 
cords,  completed,  with  slippers,  their  costume. 

Each  man  bore  a  musket  and  a  dagger. 

It  was  Baroni  who  had  made  the  arrangement 
with  Sheikh  Hassan.  Baroni  had  long  known  him  as 
a  brave  and  faithful  Arab.  In  general,  these  con- 
tracts with  the  Bedouins  for  convoy  through  the 
desert  are  made  by  Franks  through  their  respective 
consuls,  but  Tancred  was  not  sorry  to  be  saved  from 
the  necessity  of  such  an  application,  as  it  would  have 
excited  the  attention  of  Colonel  Brace,  who  passed 
his  life  at  the  British  Consulate,  and  who  probably 
would  have  thought  it  necessary  to  put  on  the  uniform 
of  the  Bellamont  yeomanry  cavalry,  and  have  attended 
the  heir  of  Montacute  to  Mount  Sinai.     Tancred  shud- 


74  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

dered  at  the  idea  of  the  presence  of  such  a  being  at 
such  a  place,  with  his  large  ruddy  face,  his  swagger- 
ing, sweltering  figure,  his  flourishing  whiskers,  and 
his  fat  hands. 

It  was  the  fifth  morn  after  the  visit  of  Tancred  to 
Bethany,  of  which  he  had  said  nothing  to  Baroni,  the 
only  person  at  his  command  who  could  afford  or  ob- 
tain any  information  as  to  the  name  and  quality  of 
her  with  whom  he  had  there  so  singularly  become 
acquainted.  He  was  far  from  incurious  on  the  sub- 
ject; all  that  he  had  seen  and  all  that  he  had  heard 
at  Bethany  greatly  interested  him.  But  the  reserve 
which  ever  controlled  him,  unless  under  the  influence 
of  great  excitement,  a  reserve  which  was  the  result 
of  pride  and  not  of  caution,  would  probably  have 
checked  any  expression  of  his  wishes  on  this  head, 
even  had  he  not  been  under  the  influence  of  those 
feelings  which  now  absorbed  him.  A  human  being, 
animated  by  the  hope,  almost  by  the  conviction,  that 
a  celestial  communication  is  impending  over  his  des- 
tiny, moves  in  a  supernal  sphere,  which  no  earthly 
consideration  can  enter.  The  long  musings  of  his 
voyage  had  been  succeeded  on  the  part  of  Tancred, 
since  his  arrival  in  the  Holy  Land,  by  one  unbroken 
and  impassioned  reverie,  heightened,  not  disturbed, 
by  frequent  and  solitary  prayer,  by  habitual  fasts,  and 
by  those  exciting  conferences  with  Alonza  Lara,  in 
which  he  had  struggled  to  penetrate  the  great  Asian 
mystery,  reserved  however,  if  indeed  ever  expounded, 
for  a  longer  initiation  than  had  yet  been  proved  by 
the  son  of  the  English  noble. 

After  a  week  of  solitary  preparation,  during  which 
he  had  interchanged  no  word,  and  maintained  an  ab- 
stinence which  might  have  rivalled  an  old   eremite  of 


I 


TANCRED  75 

Engedi,  Tancred  had  kneeled  before  that  empty  sepul- 
chre of  the  divine  Prince  of  the  house  of  David,  for 
which  his  ancestor,  Tancred  de  Montacute,  six  hun- 
dred years  before,  had  struggled  with  those  followers 
of  Mahound,  who,  to  the  consternation  and  perplexity 
of  Christendom,  continued  to  retain  it,  Christendom 
cares  nothing  for  that  tomb  now,  has  indeed  for- 
gotten its  own  name,  and  calls  itself  enlightened 
Europe.  But  enlightened  Europe  is  not  happy.  Its 
existence  is  a  fever,  which  it  calls  progress.  Progress 
to  what? 

The  youthful  votary,  during  his  vigils  at  the  sacied 
tomb,  had  received  solace  but  not  inspiration.  No 
voice  from  heaven  had  yet  sounded,  but  his  spirit 
was  filled  with  the  sanctity  of  the  place,  and  he  re- 
turned to  his  cell  to  prepare  for  fresh  pilgrimages. 

One  day,  in  conference  with  Lara,  the  Spanish 
Prior  had  let  drop  these  words:  'Sinai  led  to  Cal- 
vary; it  may  be  wise  to  trace  your  steps  from  Cal- 
vary to  Sinai.' 

At  this  moment,  Tancred  and  his  escort  are  in 
sight  of  Bethlehem,  with  the  population  of  a  village 
but  the  walls  of  a  town,  situate  on  an  eminence 
overlooking  a  valley,  which  seems  fertile  after  pass- 
ing the  stony  plain  of  Rephaim,  The  first  beams  of 
the  sun,  too,  were  rising  from  the  mountains  of 
Arabia  and  resting  on  the  noble  convent  of  the  Na- 
tivity. 

From  Bethlehem  to  Hebron,  Canaan  is  still  a  land 
of  milk  and  honey,  though  not  so  rich  and  pictur- 
esque as  in  the  great  expanse  of  Palestine  to  the 
north  of  the  Holy  City,  The  beauty  and  the  abun- 
dance of  the  promised  land  may  still  be  found  in 
Samaria  and  Galilee;  in  the  magnificent  plains  of  Es- 


76  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

draelon,  Zabulon,  and  Gennesareth;  and  ever  by  the 
gushing  waters  of  the  bowery  Jordan. 

About  an  hour  after  leaving  Bethlehem,  in  a  se- 
cluded valley,  is  one  of  the  few  remaining  public 
works  of  the  great  Hebrew  Kings.  It  is  in  every 
respect  worthy  of  them.  I  speak  of  those  colossal 
reservoirs  cut  out  of  the  native  rock  and  fed  by  a 
single  spring,  discharging  their  waters  into  an  aque- 
duct of  perforated  stone,  which,  until  a  comparatively 
recent  period,  still  conveyed  them  to  Jerusalem. 
They  are  three  in  number,  of  varying  lengths  from 
five  to  six  hundred  feet,  and  almost  as  broad;  their 
depth  still  undiscovered.  They  communicate  with 
each  other,  so  that  the  water  of  the  uppermost  res- 
ervoir, flowing  through  the  intermediate  one,  reached 
the  third,  which  fed  the  aqueduct.  They  are  lined 
with  a  hard  cement  like  that  which  coats  the  pyra- 
mids, and  which  remains  uninjured;  and  it  appears 
that  hanging  gardens  once  surrounded  them.  The 
Arabs  still  call  these  reservoirs  the  pools  of  Solomon, 
nor  is  there  any  reason  to  doubt  the  tradition.  Tra- 
dition, perhaps  often  more  faithful  than  written  docu- 
ments, is  a  sure  and  almost  infaUible  guide  in  the 
minds  of  the  people  where  there  has  been  no  com- 
plicated variety  of  historic  incidents  to  confuse  and 
break  the  chain  of  memory;  where  their  rare  revolu- 
tions have  consisted  of  an  eruption  once  in  a  thou- 
sand years  into  the  cultivated  world;  where  society 
has  never  been  broken  up,  but  their  domestic  man- 
ners have  remained  the  same;  where,  too,  they  re- 
vere truth,  and  are  rigid  in  its  oral  delivery,  since 
that  is  their  only  means  of  disseminating  knowledge. 

There  is  no  reason  to  doubt  that  these  reservoirs 
were   the   works   of  Solomon.     This   secluded  valley, 


TANCRED  77 

then,  was  once  the  scene  of  his  imaginative  and  de- 
licious life.  Here  were  his  pleasure  gardens;  these 
slopes  were  covered  with  his  fantastic  terraces,  and 
the  high  places  glittered  with  his  pavilions.  The 
fountain  that  supplied  these  treasured  waters  was 
perhaps  the  'sealed  fountain,'  to  which  he  compared 
his  bride;  and  here  was  the  garden  palace  where  the 
charming  Queen  of  Sheba  vainly  expected  to  pose 
the  wisdom  of  Israel,  as  she  held  at  a  distance  be- 
fore the  most  dexterous  of  men  the  two  garlands 
of  flowers,  alike  in  form  and  colour,  and  asked  the 
great  king,  before  his  trembling  court,  to  decide 
which  of  the  wreaths  was  the  real  one. 

They  are  gone,  they  are  vanished,  these  deeds  of 
beauty  and  these  words  of  wit!  The  bright  and 
glorious  gardens  of  the  tiaraed  poet  and  the  royal 
sage,  that  once  echoed  with  his  lyric  voice,  or  with 
the  startling  truths  of  his  pregnant  aphorisms,  end  in 
this  wild  and  solitary  valley,  in  which  with  folded 
arms  and  musing  eye  of  long  abstraction,  Tancred 
halts  in  his  ardent  pilgrimage,  nor  can  refrain  from 
asking  himself,  '  Can  it,  then,  be  true  that  all  is 
vanity  ?' 

Why,  what,  is  this  desolation  ?  Why  are  there  no 
more  kings  whose  words  are  the  treasured  wisdom 
of  countless  ages,  and  the  mention  of  whose  name  to 
this  moment  thrills  the  heart  of  the  Oriental,  from 
the  waves  of  the  midland  ocean  to  the  broad  rivers  of 
the  farthest  Ind  ?  Why  are  there  no  longer  bright- 
witted  queens  to  step  out  of  their  Arabian  palaces 
and  pay  visits  to  the  gorgeous  '  house  of  the  forest  of 
Lebanon,'  or  to  where  Baalbec,  or  Tadmor  in  the 
wilderness,  rose  on  those  plains  now  strewn  with  the 
superb  relics  of  their  inimitable  magnificence? 


78  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

And  yet  some  flat-nosed  Frank,  full  of  bustle  and 
puffed  up  with  self-conceit  (a  race  spawned  perhaps 
in  the  morasses  of  some  Northern  forest  hardly  yet 
cleared),  talks  of  Progress!  Progress  to  what,  and 
from  whence  ?  Amid  empires  shrivelled  into  deserts, 
amid  the  wrecks  of  great  cities,  a  single  column  or 
obelisk  of  which  nations  import  for  the  prime  orna- 
ment of  their  mud-built  capitals,  amid  arts  forgotten, 
commerce  annihilated,  fragmentary  literatures  and  pop- 
ulations destroyed,  the  European  talks  of  progress, 
because,  by  an  ingenious  application  of  some  scien- 
tific acquirements,  he  has  established  a  society  which 
has  mistaken  comfort  for  civilisation. 

The  soft  beam  of  the  declining  sun  fell  upon  a 
serene  landscape;  gentle  undulations  covered  with 
rich  shrubs  or  highly  cultivated  corn-fields  and  olive 
groves;  sometimes  numerous  flocks;  and  then  vine- 
yards fortified  with  walls  and  with  watch-towers,  as 
in  the  time  of  David,  whose  city  Tancred  was  ap- 
proaching. Hebron,  too,  was  the  home  of  the  great 
Sheikh  Abraham;  and  the  Arabs  here  possess  his 
tomb,  which  no  Christian  is  permitted  to  visit.  It  is 
strange  and  touching,  that  the  children  of  Ishmael 
should  have  treated  the  name  and  memory  of  the 
Sheikh  Abraham  with  so  much  reverence  and  affec- 
tion. But  the  circumstance  that  he  was  the  friend  of 
Allah  appears  with  them  entirely  to  have  outweighed 
the  recollection  of  his  harsh  treatment  of  their  great 
progenitor.  Hebron  has  even  lost  with  them  its  an- 
cient Judaean  name,  and  they  always  call  it,  in  hon- 
our of  the  tomb  of  the  Sheikh,  the  '  City  of  a  Friend.' 

About  an  hour  after  Hebron,  in  a  fair  pasture,  and 
near  an  olive  grove,  Tancred  pitched  his  tent,  pre- 
pared on  the  morrow  to  quit  the  land  of  promise,  and 


TANCRED  79 

approach  that  'great  and  terrible  wilderness  where 
there  was  no  water.' 

'The  children  of  Israel,'  as  they  were  called  ac- 
cording to  the  custom  then  and  now  universally  prev- 
alent among  the  Arabian  tribes  (as,  for  example,  the 
Beni  Kahtan,  Beni  Kelb,  Beni  Salem,  Beni  Sobh,  Beni 
Ghamed,  Beni  Seydan,  Beni  Ali,  Beni  Hateym,  all 
adopting  for  their  description  the  name  of  their 
founder),  the  'children  of  Israel'  were  originally  a 
tribe  of  Arabia  Petraea.  Under  the  guidance  of  sheikhs 
of  great  ability,  they  emerged  from  their  stony  wild- 
erness and  settled  on  the  Syrian  border. 

But  they  could  not  maintain  themselves  against 
the  disciplined  nations  of  Palestine,  and  they  fell  back 
to  their  desert,  which  they  found  intolerable.  Like 
some  of  the  Bedouin  tribes  of  modern  times  in  the 
rocky  wastes  contiguous  to  the  Red  Sea,  they  were 
unable  to  resist  the  temptations  of  the  Egyptian  cities; 
they  left  their  free  but  distressful  wilderness,  and 
became  Fellaheen.  The  Pharaohs,  however,  made 
them  pay  for  their  ready  means  of  sustenance,  as 
Mehemet  Ali  has  made  the  Arabs  of  our  days  who 
have  quitted  the  desert  to  eat  the  harvests  of  the 
Nile.  They  enslaved  them,  and  worked  them  as 
beasts  of  burden.  But  this  was  not  to  be  long  borne 
by  a  race  whose  chiefs  in  the  early  ages  had  been 
favoured  by  Jehovah;  the  patriarch  Emirs,  who,  issu- 
ing from  the  Caucasian  cradle  of  the  great  races, 
spread  over  the  plains  of  Mesopotamia,  and  dissemi- 
nated their  illustrious  seed  throughout  the  Arabian 
wilderness.  Their  fiery  imaginations  brooded  over 
the  great  traditions  of  their  tribe,  and  at  length  there 
arose  among  them  one  of  those  men  whose  existence 
is  an  epoch  in  the  history  of  human  nature:    a   great 


8o  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

creative  spirit  and  organising  mind,  in  whom  the  fac- 
ulties of  conception  and  of  action  are  equally  balanced 
and  possessed  in  the  highest  degree;  in  every  respect 
a  man  of  the  complete  Caucasian  model,  and  almost 
as  perfect  as  Adam  when  he  was  just  finished  and 
placed  in  Eden. 

But  Jehovah  recognised  in  Moses  a  human  instru- 
ment too  rare  merely  to  be  entrusted  with  the 
redemption  of  an  Arabian  tribe  from  a  state  of  Fella- 
heen to  Bedouin  existence.  And,  therefore,  he  was 
summoned  to  be  the  organ  of  an  eternal  revelation  of 
the  Divine  will,  and  his  tribe  were  appointed  to  be 
the  hereditary  ministers  of  that  mighty  and  mysteri- 
ous dispensation. 

It  is  to  be  noted,  although  the  Omnipotent  Creator 
might  have  found,  had  it  pleased  him,  in  the  hum- 
blest of  his  creations,  an  efficient  agent  for  his  pur- 
pose, however  difficult  and  sublime,  that  Divine 
Majesty  has  never  thought  fit  to  communicate  except 
with  human  beings  of  the  very  highest  powers.  They 
are  always  men  who  have  manifested  an  extraordi- 
nary aptitude  for  great  affairs,  and  the  possession  of 
a  fervent  and  commanding  genius.  They  are  great 
legislators,  or  great  warriors,  or  great  poets,  or  orators 
of  the  most  vehement  and  impassioned  spirit.  Such 
were  Moses,  Joshua,  the  heroic  youth  of  Hebron,  and 
his  magnificent  son;  such,  too,  was  Isaiah,  a  man, 
humanly  speaking,  not  inferior  to  Demosthenes,  and 
struggling  for  a  similar  and  as  beautiful  a  cause,  the 
independence  of  a  small  state,  eminent  for  its  intel- 
lectual power,  against  the  barbarian  grandeur  of  a 
military  empire.  All  the  great  things  have  been  done 
by  the  little  nations.  It  is  the  Jordan  and  the  Ilyssus 
that  have  civilised  the  modern  races.     An  Arabian  tribe, 


TANCRED  8 I 

a  clan  of  the  y^gean,  have  been  the  promulgators  of 
all  our  knowledge;  and  we  should  never  have  heard 
of  the  Pharaohs,  of  Babylon  the  great  and  Nineveh 
the  superb,  of  Cyrus  and  of  Xerxes,  had  not  it  been 
for  Athens  and  Jerusalem. 

Tancred  rose  with  the  sun  from  his  encampment 
at  Hebron,  to  traverse,  probably,  the  same  route  pur- 
sued by  the  spies  when  they  entered  the  Land  of 
Promise.  The  transition  from  Canaan  to  the  stony 
Arabia  is  not  abrupt.  A  range  of  hills  separates  Pales- 
tine from  a  high  but  level  country  similar  to  the  Syrian 
desert,  sandy  in  some  places,  but  covered  in  all  with 
grass  and  shrubs;  a  vast  expanse  of  downs.  Grad- 
ually the  herbage  disappears,  and  the  shrubs  are  only 
found  tufting  the  ridgy  tops  of  low  undulating  sand- 
hills. Soon  the  sand  becomes  stony,  and  no  trace  of 
vegetation  is  ever  visible  excepting  occasionally  some 
thorny  plant.  Then  comes  a  land  which  alternates 
between  plains  of  sand  and  dull  ranges  of  monotonous 
hills  covered  with  loose  flints;  sometimes  the  pilgrim 
winds  his  way  through  their  dull  ravines,  sometimes 
he  mounts  the  heights  and  beholds  a  prospect  of  in- 
terminable desolation. 

For  three  nights  had  Tancred  encamped  in  this 
wilderness,  halting  at  some  spot  where  they  could 
find  some  desert  shrubs  that  might  serve  as  food  for 
the  camels  and  fuel  for  themselves.  His  tent  was 
soon  pitched,  the  night  fires  soon  crackling,  and  him- 
self seated  at  one  with  the  Sheikh  and  Baroni,  he  be- 
held with  interest  and  amusement  the  picturesque  and 
flashing  groups  around  him.  Their  fare  was  scant 
and  simple:  bread  baked  upon  the  spot,  the  dried 
tongue  of  a  gazelle,  the  coffee  of  the  neighbouring 
Mocha,  and  the  pipe  that  ever  consoles,  if  indeed  the 

i6    B.  D.— 6 


82  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

traveller,  whatever  his  hardships,  could  need  any  sus- 
tenance but  his  own  high  thoughts  in  such  a  scene, 
canopied,  too,  by  the  most  beautiful  sky  and  the  most 
delicious  climate  in  the  world. 

They  were  in  the  vicinity  of  Mount  Seir;  on  the 
morrow  they  were  to  commence  the  passage  of  the 
lofty  range  which  stretches  on  to  Sinai,  The  Sheikh, 
who  had  a  feud  with  a  neighbouring  tribe,  and  had 
been  anxious  and  vigilant  while  they  crossed  the  open 
country,  riding  on  with  an  advanced  guard  before  his 
charge,  reconnoitring  from  sandhill  to  sandhill,  often 
creeping  up  and  lying  on  his  breast,  so  as  not  to  be 
visible  to  the  enemy,  congratulated  Tancred  that  all 
imminent  danger  was  past. 

'Not  that  I  am  afraid  of  them,'  said  Hassan,  proudly; 
'but  we  must  kill  them  or  they  will  kill  us.'  Has- 
san, though  Sheikh  of  his  own  immediate  family  and 
followers,  was  dependent  on  the  great  Sheikh  of  the 
Jellaheen  tribe,  and  was  bound  to  obey  his  commands 
in  case  the  complete  clan  were  summoned  to  congre- 
gate in  any  particular  part  of  the  desert. 

On  the  morrow  they  commenced  their  passage  of 
the  mountains,  and,  after  clearing  several  ranges 
found  themselves  two  hours  after  noon  in  a  defile  so 
strangely  beautiful  that  to  behold  it  would  alone  have 
repaid  all  the  exertions  and  perils  of  the  expedition, 
it  was  formed  by  precipitous  rocks  of  a  picturesque 
shape  and  of  great  height,  and  of  colours  so  brilliant 
and  so  blended  that  to  imagine  them  you  must  fancy 
the  richest  sunset  you  have  ever  witnessed,  and  that 
would  be  inferior,  from  the  inevitable  defect  of  its 
fleeting  character.  Here  the  tints,  sometimes  vivid, 
sometimes  shadowed  down,  were  always  equally  fair: 
light  blue  heights,  streaked,  perhaps,  with  scarlet  and 


AFTER    AN    ORIGINAL    DRAWING    BY    HERMAN    ROUNTREE 

Sheikh  Hassan  suddenly  hurled  his  spear. 

(See  page  8j.) 


TANCRED  83 

shaded  off  to  lilac  or  purple;  a  cleft  of  bright  orange; 
a  broad  peach-coloured  expanse,  veined  in  delicate 
circles  and  wavy  lines  of  exquisite  grace;  sometimes 
yellow  and  purple  stripes;  sometimes  an  isolated 
steep  of  every  hue  flaming  in  the  sun,  and  then,  like 
a  young  queen  on  a  gorgeous  throne,  from  a  vast 
rock  of  crimson  and  gold  rose  a  milk-white  summit. 
The  frequent  fissures  of  this  defile  were  filled  with 
rich  woods  of  oleander  and  shrubs  of  every  shade  of 
green,  from  which  rose  acacia,  and  other  trees  un- 
known to  Tancred,  Over  all  this  was  a  deep  and 
cloudless  sky,  and  through  it  a  path  winding  amid  a 
natural  shrubbery,  which  princes  would  have  built 
colossal  conservatories  to  preserve. 

"lis  a  scene  of  enchantment  that  has  risen  to 
mock  us  in  the  middle  of  the  desert,'  exclaimed  the 
enraptured  pilgrim;  'surely  it  must  vanish  even  as 
we  gaze ! ' 

About  half-way  up  the  defile,  when  they  had 
traversed  it  for  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  Sheikh 
Hassan  suddenly  galloped  forward  and  hurled  his 
spear  with  great  force  at  an  isolated  crag,  the  base  of 
which  was  covered  with  oleanders,  and  then  looking 
back  he  shouted  to  his  companions.  Tancred  and  the 
foremost  hurried  up  to  him. 

'  Here  are  tracks  of  horses  and  camels  that  have 
entered  the  valley  thus  f^ir  and  not  passed  through  it. 
They  are  fresh;  let  all  be  prepared.' 

'We  are  twenty-five  men  well  armed,'  said  Baroni. 
'It  is  not  the  Tyahas  that  will  attack  such  a  band.' 

'Nor  are  they  the  Gherashi  or  the  Mezeines,'  said 
the  Sheikh,  'for  we  know  what  they  are  after,  and 
we  are  brothers.' 

'They  must  be  Alouins,'  said  an  Arab. 


84  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

At  this  moment  the  little  caravan  was  apparently 
land-locked,  the  defile  again  winding;  but  presently  it 
became  quite  straight,  and  its  termination  was  visible, 
though  at  a  considerable  distance. 

'I  see  horsemen,'  said  the  Sheikh;  'several  of 
them  advance;  they  are  not  Alouins.' 

He  rode  forward  to  meet  them,  accompanied  by 
Tancred  and  Baroni. 

'Salaam,'  said  the  Sheikh,  'how  is  it?'  and  then 
he  added,  aside  to  Baroni,  'They  are  strangers;  why 
are  they  here?' 

'Aleikoum!  We  know  where  you  come  from,' 
was  the  reply  of  one  of  the  horsemen.  '  Is  that  the 
brother  of  the  Queen  of  the  English  ?  Let  him  ride 
with  us,  and  you  may  go  on  in  peace.' 

'He  is  my  brother,'  said  Sheikh  Hassan,  'and  the 
brother  of  all  here.  There  is  no  feud  between  us. 
Who  are  you?' 

'  We  are  children  of  Jethro,  and  the  great  Sheikh 
has  sent  us  a  long  way  to  give  you  salaam.  Your 
desert  here  is  not  fit  for  the  camel  that  your  Prophet 
cursed.  Come,  let  us  finish  our  business,  for  we 
wish  to  see  a  place  where  there  are  palm  trees.' 

'Are  these  children  of  Eblis?'  said  Sheikh  Hassan 
to  Baroni. 

'It  is  the  day  of  judgment,'  said  Baroni,  looking 
pale;  'such  a  thing  has  not  happened  in  my  time.  I 
am  lost.' 

'What  do  these  people  say?'  inquired  Tancred. 

'There  is  but  one  God,'  said  Sheikh  Hassan,  whose 
men  had  now  reached  him,  'and  Mahomet  is  his 
Prophet.  Stand  aside,  sons  of  Eblis,  or  you  shall  bite 
the  earth  which  curses  you!' 

A  wild  shout  from  every  height  of  the  defile  was 


TANCRED  85 

the  answer.  They  looked  up,  they  looked  round; 
the  crest  of  every  steep  was  covered  with  armed 
Arabs,  each  man  with  his  musket  levelled. 

'My  lord,'  said  Baroni,  'there  is  something  hidden 
in  all  this.  This  is  not  an  ordinary  desert  foray. 
You  are  known,  and  this  tribe  comes  from  a  distance 
to  plunder  you;'  and  then  he  rapidly  detailed  what 
had  already  passed. 

'What  is  your  force,  sons  of  Ebhs?'  said  the 
Sheikh  to  the  horsemen, 

'Count  your  men,  and  your  muskets,  and  your 
swords,  and  your  horses,  and  your  camels;  and  if 
they  were  all  double,  they  would  not  be  our  force. 
Our  great  Sheikh  would  have  come  in  person  with 
ten  thousand  men,  were  not  your  wilderness  here  fit 
only  for  Giaours.' 

'Tell  the  young  chief,'  said  the  Sheikh  to  Baroni, 
'that  1  am  his  brother,  and  will  shed  the  last  drop  of 
my  blood  in  his  service,  as  I  am  bound  to  do,  as 
much  as  he  is  bound  to  give  me  ten  thousand  pias- 
tres for  the  journey,  and  ask  him  what  he  wishes.' 

'Demand  to  know  distinctly  what  these  men 
want,'  said  Tancred  to  Baroni,  who  then  conferred 
with  them. 

'They  want  your  lordship,'  said  Baroni,  'whom 
they  call  the  brother  of  the  Queen  of  the  English; 
their  business  is  clearly  to  carry  you  to  their  great 
Sheikh,  who  will  release  you  for  a  large  ransom.' 

'And  they  have  no  feud  with  the  Jellaheens?' 

'None;  they  are  strangers;  they  come  from  a  dis- 
tance for  this  purpose;  nor  can  it  be  doubted  that 
this  plan  has  been  concocted  at  Jerusalem.' 

'Our  position,  1  fear,  is  fatal  in  this  defile,'  said 
Tancred;  'it  is  bitter  to  be  the  cause  of  exposing   so 


86  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

many  brave  men  to  almost  inevitable  slaughter.  Tell 
them,  Baroni,  that  I  am  not  the  brother  of  the  Queen 
of  the  English;  that  they  are  ridiculously  misled,  and 
that  their  aim  is  hopeless,  for  all  that  will  be  ran- 
somed will  be  my  corpse.' 

Sheikh  Hassan  sat  on  his  horse  like  a  statue,  with 
his  spear  in  his  hand  and  his  eye  on  his  enemy; 
Baroni,  advancing  to  the  strange  horsemen,  who  were 
in  position  about  ten  yards  from  Tancred  and  his 
guardian,  was  soon  engaged  in  animated  conversation. 
He  did  all  that  an  able  diplomatist  could  effect;  told 
lies  with  admirable  grace,  and  made  a  hundred  prop- 
ositions that  did  not  commit  his  principal.  He  as- 
sured them  very  heartily  that  Tancred  was  not  the 
brother  of  the  Queen  of  the  English;  that  he  was  only 
a  young  Sheikh,  whose  father  was  alive,  and  in  pos- 
session of  all  the  flocks  and  herds,  camels  and  horses; 
that  he  had  quarrelled  with  his  father;  that  his  father, 
perhaps,  would  not  be  sorry  if  he  were  got  rid  of, 
and  would  not  give  a  hundred  piastres  to  save  his 
life.  Then  he  offered,  if  he  would  let  Tancred  pass, 
himself  to  go  with  them  as  prisoner  to  their  great 
Sheikh,  and  even  proposed  Hassan  and  half  his  men 
for  additional  hostages,  whilst  some  just  and  equitable 
arrangement  could  be  effected.  All,  however,  was  in 
vain.  The  enemy  had  no  discretion;  dead  or  alive, 
the  young  Englishman  must  be  carried  to  their  chief. 

*I  can  do  nothing,'  said  Baroni,  returning;  'there 
is  something  in  all  this  which  I  do  not  understand. 
It  has  never  happened  in  my  time.' 

'There  is,  then,  but  one  course  to  be  taken,'  said 
Tancred;  'we  must  charge  through  the  defile.  At 
any  rate  we  shall  have  the  satisfaction  of  dying  like 
men.     Let  us  each  fix  on  our  opponent.      That  auda- 


TANCRED  87 

cious-looking  Arab  in  a  red  kefia  shall  be  my  victim, 
or  my  destroyer.  Speak  to  tiie  Siieikh,  and  tell  him 
to  prepare  his  men.  Freeman  and  Trueman,'  said 
Tancred,  looking  round  to  his  English  servants,  'we 
are  in  extreme  peril;  I  took  you  from  your  homes;  if 
we  outlive  this  day,  and  return  to  Montacute,  you 
shall  live  on  your  own  land.' 

'Never  mind  us,  my  lord:  if  it  worn't  for  those 
rocks  we  would  beat  these  niggers.' 

'Are  you  all  ready.?'  said  Tancred  to  Baroni. 

'We  are  all  ready.' 

'Then  I  commend  my  soul  to  Jesus  Christ,  and  to 
the  God  of  Sinai,  in  whose  cause  I  perish.'  So  saying, 
Tancred  shot  the  Arab  in  the  red  kefia  through  the 
head,  and  with  his  remaining  pistol  disabled  another 
of  the  enemy.  This  he  did,  while  he  and  his  band 
were  charging,  so  suddenly  and  so  boldly,  that  those 
immediately  opposed  to  them  were  scattered.  There 
was  a  continuous  volley,  however,  from  every  part  of 
the  defile,  and  the  scene  was  so  involved  in  smoke 
that  it  was  impossible  for  Tancred  to  see  a  yard 
around  him;  still  he  galloped  on  and  felt  concious 
that  he  had  companions,  though  the  shouting  was  so 
great  that  it  was  impossible  to  communicate.  The 
smoke  suddenly  drifting,  Tancred  caught  a  glimpse 
of  his  position;  he  was  at  the  mouth  of  the  defile, 
followed  by  several  of  his  men,  whom  he  had  not 
time  to  distinguish,  and  awaited  by  innumerable  foes. 

'Let  us  sell  our  lives  dearly!'  was  all  that  he  could 
exclaim.  His  sword  fell  from  his  wounded  arm;  his 
horse,  stabbed  underneath,  sank  with  him  to  the 
ground.  He  was  overpowered  and  bound.  '  Every 
drop  of  his  blood,'  exclaimed  the  leader  of  the  strange 
Arabs,   'is  worth  ten  thousand  piastres.' 


CHAPTER   XXX. 


Plans  for  Rescue. 

HERE  is  Besso?'  said    Barizy  of  the 

Tower,    as    the    Consul    Pasqualigo 

entered  the  divan  of  the  merchant, 

about  ten  days  after  the  departure 

of    Tancred     from     Jerusalem    for 

Mount  Sinai. 

'Where  is  Besso?  I  have  already  smoked  two 
chibouques,  and  no  one  has  entered  except  yourself. 
I  suppose  you  have  heard  the  news?' 

'Who  has  not?     It  is  in  every  one's  mouth.' 
'What    have    you    heard?'    asked    Barizy    of    the 
Tower,  with  an  air  of  malicious  curiosity. 

'Some  things  that  everybody  knows,'  replied 
Pasqualigo,   'and  some  things  that  nobody  knows.' 

'Hah,  hah!'  said  Barizy  of  the  Tower,  pricking 
up  his  ears,  and  preparing  for  one  of  those  diplomatic 
encounters  of  mutual  pumping,  in  which  he  and  his 
rival  were  practised.  'I  suppose  you  have  seen 
somebody,  eh?' 

'Somebody  has  been  seen.'  replied  Pasqualigo,  and 
then  he  busied  himself  with  his  pipe  just  arrived. 

'But  nobody  has  seen  somebody  who  was  on  the 
spot?'  said  Barizy. 

(88) 


TANCRED  89 

'It  depends  upon  what  you  mean  by  the  spot,' 
replied   Pasqualigo. 

'Your  information  is  second-hand,'  observed  Ba- 
rizy. 

'But  you  acknowledge  it  is  correct?'  said  Pasqua- 
ligo, more  eagerly. 

'It  depends  upon  whether  your  friend  was  present 
'  and  here  Barizy  hesitated. 

'It  does,'  said  Pasqualigo. 

'Then  he  was  present.?'  said  Barizy. 

'He  was.' 

'Then  he  knows,'  said  Barizy,  eagerly,  'whether 
the  young  English  prince  was  murdered  intentionally 
or  by  hazard.' 

'A — h,'  said  Pasqualigo,  whom  not  the  slightest 
rumour  of  the  affair  had  yet  reached,  'that  is  a  great 
question.' 

'But  everything  depends  upon  it,' said  Barizy.  'If 
he  was  killed  accidentally,  there  will  be  negotiations, 
but  the  business  will  be  compromised;  the  English 
want  Cyprus,  and  they  will  take  it  as  compensation. 
If  it  is  an  affair  of  malice  prepense,  there  will  be 
war,  for  the  laws  of  England  require  war  if  blood 
royal  be  spilt.' 

The  Consul  Pasqualigo  looked  very  grave;  then, 
withdrawing  his  lips  for  a  moment  from  his  amber 
mouthpiece,  he  observed,   '  It  is  a  crisis.' 

'It  will  be  a  crisis,'  said  Barizy  of  the  Tower,  ex- 
cited by  finding  his  rival  a  listener,  'but  not  for 
a  long  time.  The  crisis  has  not  commenced.  The 
first  question  is:  to  whom  does  the  desert  belong;  to 
the  Porte,  or  to  the  Viceroy  ? ' 

'It  depends  upon  what  part  of  the  desert  is  in 
question,'  said  Pasqualigo. 


90  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'Of  course  the  part  where  it  took  place.  I  say 
the  Arabian  desert  belongs  to  the  Viceroy;  my  cousin, 
Barizy  of  the  Gate,  says  "No,  it  belongs  to  the  Porte." 
Raphael  Tafna  says  it  belongs  to  neither.  The  Bed- 
ouins are  independent.' 

'  But  they  are  not  recognised,'  said  the  Consul 
Pasqualigo.  'Without  a  diplomatic  existence,  they 
are  nullities.  England  will  hold  all  the  recognised 
powers  in  the  vicinity  responsible.  You  will  see! 
The  murder  of  an  English  prince,  under  such  circum- 
stances too,  will  not  pass  unavenged.  The  whole  of 
the  Turkish  garrison  of  the  city  will  march  out  directly 
into  the  desert.' 

'The  Arabs  care  shroff  for  your  Turkish  garrison 
of  the  city,'  said  Barizy,  with  great  derision. 

'They  are  eight  hundred  strong,'  said  Pasqua- 
ligo. 

'Eight  hundred  weak,  you  mean.  No,  as  Raphael 
Tafna  was  saying,  when  Mehemet  Ali  was  master, 
the  tribes  were  quiet  enough.  But  the  Turks  could 
never  manage  the  Arabs,  even  in  their  best  days.  If 
the  Pasha  of  Damascus  were  to  go  himself,  the 
Bedouins  would  unveil  his  harem  while  he  was 
smoking  his  nargileh.' 

'Then  England  will  call  upon  the  Egyptians,'  said 
the  Consul. 

'Hah!'  said  Barizy  of  the  Tower,  'have  I  got 
you  at  last.?  Now  comes  your  crisis,  I  grant  you. 
The  English  will  send  a  ship  of  war  with  a  protocol, 
and  one  of  their  lords  who  is  a  sailor:  that  is  the 
way.  They  will  call  upon  the  pasha  to  exterminate 
the  tribe  who  have  murdered  the  brother  of  their 
queen;  the  pasha  will  reply,  that  when  he  was  in 
Syria   the    brothers  of  queens   were   never   murdered, 


TANCRED  91 

and  put  the  protocol  in  his  turban.  This  will  never 
satisfy  Palmerston;  he  will  order ' 

'  Palmerston  has  nothing  to  do  with  it,'  screamed 
out  Pasqualigo;  'he  is  no  longer  Reis  Effendi;  he  is 
in  exile;  he  is  governor  of  the  Isle  of  Wight.' 

'Do  you  think  I  do  not  know  that.?'  said  Barizy 
of  the  Tower;  'but  he  will  be  recalled  for  this  pur- 
pose. The  English  will  not  go  to  war  in  Syria  with- 
out Palmerston.  Palmerston  will  have  the  command 
of  the  fleet  as  well  as  of  the  army,  that  no  one  shall 
say  "No"  when  he  says  "Yes."  The  English  will 
not  do  the  business  of  the  Turks  again  for  nothing. 
They  will  take  this  city;  they  will  keep  it.  They 
want  a  new  market  for  their  cottons.  Mark  me: 
England  will  never  be  satisfied  till  the  people  of  Jeru- 
salem wear  calico  turbans.' 

Let  us  inquire  also  with  Barizy  of  the  Tower, 
where  was  Besso  ?  Alone  in  his  private  chamber, 
agitated  and  troubled,  awaiting  the  return  of  his 
daughter  from  the  bath;  and  even  now,  the  arrival 
may  be  heard  of  herself  and  her  attendants  in  the 
inner  court. 

'You  want  me,  my  father?'  said  Eva,  as  she  en- 
tered.    'Ah!  you  are  disturbed.    What  has  happened.?' 

'The  tenth  plague  of  Pharaoh,  my  child,'  replied 
Besso,  in  a  tone  of  great  vexation.  'Since  the  ex- 
pulsion of  Ibrahim,  there  has  been  nothing  which  has 
crossed  me  so  much.' 

'  Fakredeen  ?' 

'No,  no;  'tis  nothing  to  do  with  him,  poor  boy; 
but  of  one  as  young,  and  whose  interests,  though  I 
know  him  not,  scarcely  less  concern  me.' 

'You  know  him  not;  'tis  not  then  my  cousin. 
You  perplex  me,  my  father.     Tell  me  at  once.' 


92  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'It  is  the  most  vexatious  of  all  conceivable  occur- 
rences,' replied  Besso,  'and  yet  it  is  about  a  person 
of  whom  you  never  heard,  and  whom  1  never  saw; 
and  yet  there  are  circumstances  connected  with  him. 
Alas!  alas!  you  must  know,  my  Eva,  there  is  a 
young  Englishman  here,  and  a  young  English  lord,  of 
one  of  their  princely  families '  ■ 

'Yes!'  said  Eva,  in  a  subdued  but  earnest  tone.     ^ 

'He  brought  me  a  letter  from  the  best  and 
greatest  of  men,*  said  Besso,  with  much  emotion,  'to 
whom  I,  to  whom  we,  owe  everything:  our  fortunes, 
our  presence  here,  perhaps  our  lives.  There  was 
nothing  which  I  was  not  bound  to  do  for  him,  which 
I  was  not  ready  and  prepared  to  do.  I  ought  to 
have  guarded  over  him;  to  have  forced  my  services 
on  his  acceptance;  I  blame  myself  now  when  it  is 
too  late.  But  he  sent  me  his  letter  by  the  Intendant 
of  his  household,  whom  I  knew.  I  was  fearful  to 
obtrude  myself.  I  learnt  he  was  fanatically  Christian, 
and  thought  perhaps  he  might  shrink  from  my  ac- 
quaintance.' 

'And  what  has  happened?'  inquired  Eva,  with  an 
agitation  which  proved  her  sympathy  with  her  father's 
sorrow. 

'He  left  the  city  some  days  ago  to  visit  Sinai; 
well  armed  and  properly  escorted.  He  has  been  way- 
laid in  the  wilderness  and  captured  after  a  bloody 
struggle.' 

'A  bloody  struggle?' 

'Yes;  they  of  course  would  gladly  not  have  fought, 
but,  though  entrapped  into  an  ambush,  the  young 
Englishman  would  not  yield,  but  fought  with  des- 
peration. His  assailants  have  suffered  considerably;  his 
own  party  comparatively  little,  for  they  were  so  placed; 


TANCRED  93 

surrounded,  you  understand,  in  a  mountain  defile, 
that  they  might  have  been  all  massacred,  but  the  fear 
of  destroying  their  prize  restrained  at  first  the  marks- 
men on  the  heights;  and,  by  a  daring  and  violent 
charge,  the  young  Englishman  and  his  followers 
forced  the  pass,  but  they  were  overpowered  by 
numbers.' 

'And  he  wounded  ?' 

'  1  hope  not  severely.  But  you  have  heard  noth- 
ing. They  have  sent  his  Intendant  to  Jerusalem  with 
a  guard  of  Arabs  to  bring  back  his  ransom.  What 
do  you  think  they  want?' 

Eva  signified  her  inability  to  conjecture. 

'Two  millions  of  piastres!' 

'Two  millions  of  piastres!  Did  you  say  two? 
'Tis  a  great  sum;  but  we  might  negotiate.  They 
would  accept  less,  perhaps  much  less,  than  two  mil- 
lions of  piastres.' 

'If  it  were  four  millions  of  piastres,  I  must  pay 
it,'  said  Besso.  "Tis  not  the  sum  alone  that  so 
crosses  me.  The  father  of  this  young  noble  is  a 
great  prince,  and  could  doubtless  pay,  without  seri- 
ous injury  to  himself,  two  millions  of  piastres  for  the 
ransom  of  his  son;  but  that's  not  it.  He  comes  here; 
he  is  sent  to  me.  I  was  to  care  for  him,  think  for 
him,  guard  over  him:  I  have  never  even  seen  him; 
and  he  is  wounded,  plundered,  and  a  prisoner!' 

'But  if  he  avoided  you,  my  father?'  murmured 
Eva,  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground. 

'Avoided  mel'  said  Besso;  'he  never  thought  of 
me  but  as  of  a  Jew  banker,  to  whom  he  would  send 
his  servant  for  money  when  he  needed  it.  Was  I  to 
stand  on  punctilios  with  a  great  Christian  noble?  I 
ought  to  have  waited  at  his  gate  every  day  when  he 


94  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

came  forth,  and  bowed  to  the  earth,  until  it  pleased 
him  to  notice  me;  I  ought ' 

'No,  no,  no,  my  father!  you  are  bitter.  This 
youth  is  not  such  as  you  think;  at  least,  in  all  prob- 
ability is  not,'  said  Eva.  'You  hear  he  is  fanatically 
Christian;  he  may  be  but  deeply  religious,  and  his 
thoughts  at  this  moment  may  rest  on  other  things 
than  the  business  of  the  world.  He  who  makes  a 
pilgrimage  to  Sinai  can  scarcely  think  us  so  vile  as 
you  would  intimate.' 

'What  will  he  think  of  those  whom  he  is  among? 
Here  is  the  wound,  Eva!  Guess,  then,  child,  who 
has  shot  this  arrow.     'Tis  my  father!' 

*0  traitor!  traitor!'  said  Eva,  quickly  covering  her 
face  with  her  hands.  'My  terror  was  prophetic! 
There  is  none  so  base!' 

'Nay,  nay,'  said  Besso;  'these,  indeed,  are  women's 
words.  The  great  Sheikh  in  this  has  touched  me 
nearly,  but  I  see  no  baseness  in  it.  He  could  not 
know  the  intimate  relation  that  should  subsist  between 
me  and  this  young  Englishman.  He  has  captured  him 
in  the  desert,  according  to  the  custom  of  his  tribe. 
Much  as  Amaiek  may  injure  me,  I  must  acquit  him 
of  treason  and  of  baseness.' 

'Yes,  yes,' said  Eva,  with  an  abstracted  air.  'You 
misconceive  me.  I  was  thinking  of  others;  and  what 
do  you  purpose,  my  father?' 

'First,  to  clear  myself  of  the  deep  stain  that  I  now 
feel  upon  my  life,'  said  Besso.  'This  Englishman 
comes  to  Jerusalem  with  an  unbounded  credit  on  my 
house:  he  visits  the  wilderness,  and  is  made  prisoner 
by  my  father-in-law,  who  is  in  ambush  in  a  part  of 
the  desert  which  his  tribe  never  frequents,  and  who 
sends   to   me  for   a   princely  ransom    for    his    captive. 


TANCRED  95 

These  are  the  apparent  circumstances.  These  are  the 
facts.  There  is  but  one  inference  from  them.  I  dare 
say  'tis  drawn  already  by  all  the  gossips  of  the  city: 
they  are  hard  at  it,  I  doubt  not,  at  this  moment,  in 
my  own  divan,  winking  their  eyes  and  shrugging 
their  shoulders,  while  they  are  smoking  my  choice 
tobacco,  and  drinking  my  sherbet  of  pomegranate. 
And  can  I  blame  them?' 

'A  pure  conscience  may  defy  city  gossips.' 

'A  pure  conscience  must  pay  the  ransom  out  of 
my  own  coffers.  I  am  not  over  fond  of  paying  two 
millions  of  piastres,  or  even  half,  for  one  whose  shadow 
never  fell  upon  my  threshold.  And  yet  I  must  do  it: 
do  it  for  my  father-in-law,  the  Sheikh  of  the  Recha- 
bites,  whose  peace  I  made  with  Mehemet  Ali,  for 
whom  I  gained  the  guardianship  of  the  Mecca  caravan 
through  the  Syrian  desert  for  five  years,  who  has 
twelve  thousand  camels  which  he  made  by  that  office. 
Oh,  were  it  not  for  you,  my  daughter,  I  would  curse 
the  hour  that  I  ever  mixed  my  blood  with  the  chil- 
dren of  Jethro.  After  all,  if  the  truth  were  known, 
they  are  sons  of  Ishmael.' 

'No,  no,  dear  father,  say  not  such  things.  You 
will  send  to  the  great  Sheikh;  he  will  listen ' 

'I  send  to  the  great  Sheikh!  You  know  not  your 
grandfather,  and  you  know  not  me.  The  truth  is, 
the  Sheikh  and  myself  mutually  despise  each  other, 
and  we  have  never  met  with  mt  parting  in  bitterness. 
No,  no;  I  would  rather  pay  the  ransom  myself  than 
ask  a  favour  of  the  great  Sheikh.  But  how  can  I  pay 
the  ransom,  even  if  I  chose  ?  This  young  English- 
man is  a  fiery  youth:  he  will  not  yield  even  to  an 
ambush  and  countless  odds.  Do  you  think  a  man 
who   charges   through   a  defile    crowned  with   match- 


96  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

locks,  and  shoots  men  through  the  head,  as  I  am  told 
he  did,  in  the  name  of  Christ,  will  owe  his  freedom 
to  my  Jewish  charity?  He  will  burn  the  Temple 
first.  This  young  man  has  the  sword  of  Gideon. 
You  know  little  of  the  world,  Eva,  and  nothing  of 
young  Englishmen.  There  is  not  a  race  so  proud,  so 
wilful,  so  rash,  and  so  obstinate.  They  live  in  a  misty 
chme,  on  raw  meats,  and  wines  of  fire.  They  laugh 
at  their  fathers,  and  never  say  a  prayer.  They  pass 
their  days  in  the  chase,  gaming,  and  all  violent 
courses.  They  have  all  the  power  of  the  State,  and 
all  its  wealth;  and  when  they  can  wring  no  more 
from  their  peasants,  they  plunder  the  kings  of  India.' 

'But  this  young  Englishman,  you  say,  is  pious?' 
said  Eva. 

Ah!  this  young  Englishman;  why  did  he  come 
here  ?  What  is  Jerusalem  to  him,  or  he  to  Jerusalem  ? 
His  Intendant,  himself  a  prisoner,  waits  here.  1  must 
see  him;  he  is  one  of  the  people  of  my  patron,  which 
proves  our  great  friend's  interest  in  this  youth.  O 
day  thrice  cursed!  day  of  a  thousand  evil  eyes!  day 
of  a  new  captivity ' 

'My  father,  my  dear  father,  these  bursts  of  grief 
do  not  become  your  fame  for  wisdom.  We  must  in- 
quire, we  must  hold  counsel.  Let  me  see  the  Intend- 
ant of  this  English  youth,  and  hear  more  than  I  have 
yet  learnt.  I  cannot  think  that  affairs  are  so  hopeless 
as  you  paint  them:  1  will  believe  that  there  is  a 
spring  near.' 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

Parleyings. 

N  AN  almost  circular  valley,  sur- 
rounded by  mountains,  Amalek, 
great  Sheikh  of  the  Rechabite  Bed- 
ouins, after  having  crossed  the 
peninsula  of  Petraea  from  the  great 
Syrian  desert,  pitched  his  camp 
amid  the  magnificent  ruins  of  an  ancient  Idumaean  city. 
The  pavilion  of  the  chief,  facing  the  sunset,  was 
raised  in  the  arena  of  an  amphitheatre  cut  out  of  the  solid 
rock  and  almost  the  whole  of  the  seats  of  which  were 
entire.  The  sides  of  the  mountains  were  covered 
with  excavated  tombs  and  temples,  and,  perhaps, 
dwelling-places;  at  any  rate,  many  of  them  were  now 
occupied  by  human  beings.  Fragments  of  columns 
were  lying  about,  and  masses  of  unknown  walls. 
From  a  defile  in  the  mountains  issued  a  stream,  which 
wound  about  in  the  plain,  its  waters  almost  hid,  but 
its  course  beautifully  indicated  by  the  undulating 
shrubbery  of  oleanders,  fig-trees,  and  willows.  On 
one  side  of  these,  between  the  water  and  the  amphi- 
theatre, was  a  crescent  of  black  tents,  groups  of 
horses,  and  crouching  camels.  Over  the  whole  scene 
the  sunset  threw  a  violet  hue,  while  the  moon,  broad 
and  white,  floated  over  the  opposite  hills. 

i6    B.  D.-7  (97) 


98  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

The  carpet  of  the  great  Sheikh  was  placed  before 
his  pavilion,  and,  seated  on  it  alone,  and  smoking  a 
chibouque  of  date  wood,  the  patriarch  ruminated.  He 
had  no  appearance  of  age,  except  from  a  snowy 
beard,  which  was  very  long:  a  wiry  man,  with  an 
un wrinkled  face;  dark,  regular,  and  noble  features, 
beautiful  teeth.  Over  his  head,  a  crimson  kefia,  ribbed 
and  fringed  with  gold;  his  robe  was  of  the  same 
colour,  and  his  boots  were  of  red  leather;  the  chief 
of  one  of  the  great  tribes,  and  said,  when  they  were 
united,  to  be  able  to  bring  ten  thousand  horsemen 
into  the  field. 

One  at  full  gallop,  with  a  long  spear,  at  this  mo- 
ment darted  from  the  ravine,  and,  without  stopping 
to  answer  several  who  addressed  him,  hurried  across 
the  plain,  and  did  not  halt  until  he  reached  the 
Sheikh. 

'Salaam,  Sheikh  of  Sheikhs,  it  is  done;  the  brother 
of  the  Queen  of  the  English  is  your  slave.' 

'Good!'  said  Sheikh  Amalek,  very  gravely,  and 
taking  his  pipe  from  his  mouth.  'May  your  mother 
eat  the  hump  of  a  young  camel!  When  will  they  be 
here  ? ' 

'They  will  be  the  first  shadows  of  the  moon.' 

'Good!  is  the  brother  of  the  Queen  with  Sheikh 
Salem?' 

'There  is  only  one  God:  Sheikh  Salem  will  never 
drink  leban  again,  unless  he  drink  it  in  Paradise.' 

'Certainly,  there  is  only  one  God.  What!  has  he 
fallen  asleep  into  the  well  of  Nummula?' 

'No;  but  we  have  seen  many  evil  eyes.  Four 
hares  crossed  our  path  this  morning.  Our  salaam  to 
the  English  prince  was  not  a  salaam  of  peace.  The 
brother  of  the  Queen  of  the  English   is    no   less   than 


I 


TANCRED  99 

an  Antar.     He  will  fight,  yea  or  nay;  and  he  has  shot 
Sheikh  Salem  through  the  head.' 

'There  is  but  one  God,  and  His  will  be  done.  I 
have  lost  the  apple  of  mine  eye.  The  Prince  of  the 
English  is  alive?' 

'He  is  alive.' 

'Good!  camels  shall  be  given  to  the  widow  of 
Sheikh  Salem,  and  she  shall  be  married  to  a  new 
husband.     Are  there  other  deeds  of  Gin?' 

'One  grape  will  not  make  a  bunch,  even  though 
it  be  a  great  one,' 

'  Let  truth  always  be  spoken.  Let  your  words 
flow  as  the  rock  of  Moses.' 

'There  is  only  one  God:  if  you  call  to  Ibrahim- 
ben-Hassan,  to  Molgrabi  Teuba,  and  Teuba-ben-Amin, 
they  will  not  be  roused  from  their  sleep:  there  are 
also  wounds.' 

'Tell  all  the  people  there  is  only  one  God:  it  is 
the  Sheikh  of  the  Jellaheens  that  has  done  these  deeds 
of  Gin  ? ' 

'Let  truth  always  be  spoken;  my  words  shall  flow 
as  the  rock  of  Moses.  The  Sheikh  of  the  Jellaheens 
counselled  the  young  man  not  to  fight,  but  the  young 
man  is  a  very  Zatanai.  Certainly  there  are  many 
devils,  but  there  is  no  devil  like  a  Frank  in  a  round 
hat.' 

The  evening  advanced;  the  white  moon,  that  had 
only  gleamed,  now  glittered;  the  necks  of  the  camels 
looked  tall  and  silvery  in  its  beam.  The  night-fires 
began  to  blaze,  the  lamps  to  twinkle  in  the  crescent 
of  dark  tents.  There  was  a  shout,  a  general  stir,  the 
heads  of  spears  were  seen  glistening  in  the  ravine. 
They  came;  a  winding  line  of  warriors.  Some,  as 
they    emerged   into  the   plain,    galloped    forward    and 


lOO  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

threw  their  spears  into  the  air;  but  the  main  body 
preserved  an  appearance  of  discipline,  and  proceeded 
at  a  slow  pace  to  the  pavilion  of  the  Sheikh.  A  body 
of  horsemen  came  first;  then  warriors  on  dromedaries; 
Sheikh  Hassan  next,  grave  and  erect  as  if  nothing  had 
happened,  though  he  was  wounded,  and  followed  by 
his  men,  disarmed,  though  their  chief  retained  his 
spear.  Baroni  followed.  He  was  unhurt,  and  rode 
between  two  Bedouins,  with  whom  he  continually 
conversed.  After  them,  the  bodies  of  Sheikh  Salem 
and  his  comrades,  covered  with  cloaks  and  stowed 
on  camels.  And  then  came  the  great  prize,  Tancred, 
mounted  on  a  dromedary,  his  right  arm  bound  up  in 
a  sling  which  Baroni  had  hastily  made,  and  sur- 
rounded and  followed  by  a  large  troop  of  horsemen, 
who  treated  him  with  the  highest  consideration,  not 
only  because  he  was  a  great  prince,  whose  ransom 
could  bring  many  camels  to  their  tribe,  but  because 
he  had  shown  those  feats  of  valour  which  the  wild 
desert  honours. 

Notwithstanding  his  wound,  which,  though  slight, 
began  to  be  painful,  and  the  extreme  vexation  of  the 
whole  affair,  Tancred  could  not  be  insensible  to  the 
strange  beauty  of  the  scene  which  welcomed  him. 
He  had  read  of  these  deserted  cities,  carved  out  of 
the  rocks  of  the  wilderness,  and  once  the  capitals  of 
flourishing  and  abounding  kingdoms. 

They  stopped  before  the  pavilion  of  the  great 
Sheikh;  the  arena  of  the  amphitheatre  became  filled 
with  camels,  horses,  groups  of  warriors;  many  mounted 
on  the  seats,  that  they  might  overlook  the  scene, 
their  arms  and  shawled  heads  glistening  in  the  silver 
blaze  of  the  moon  or  the  ruddy  flames  of  the  watch- 
fires.     They  assisted  Tancred  to  descend,  they  ushered 


TANCRED  loi 

him  with  courtesy  to  their  chief,  who  made  room 
for  Tancred  on  his  own  carpet,  and  motioned  that 
he  should  be  seated  by  his  side.  A  small  carpet 
was  placed  for  Sheikh  Hassan,  and  another  for  Ba- 
roni. 

'Salaam,  brother  of  many  queens,  all  that  you  see 
is  yours;  Salaam  Sheikh  Hassan,  we  are  brothers. 
Salaam,'  added  Amalek,  looking  at  Baroni,  'they  tell 
me  that  you  can  speak  our  language,  which  is  beau- 
tiful as  the  moon  and  many  palm  trees;  tell  the 
prince,  brother  of  many  queens,  that  he  mistook  the 
message  that  1  sent  him  this  morning,  which  was  an 
invitation  to  a  feast,  not  to  a  war.  Tell  him  we  are 
brothers.' 

'Tell  the  Sheikh,'  said  Tancred,  'that  I  have  no 
appetite  for  feasting,  and  desire  to  be  informed  why 
he  has  made  me  a  prisoner.' 

'  Tell  the  prince,  brother  of  many  queens,  that  he 
is  not  a  prisoner,  but  a  guest.' 

'Ask  the  Sheikh,  then,  whether  we  can  depart  at 
once.' 

'Tell  the  prince,  brother  of  many  queens,  that  it 
would  be  rude  in  me  to  let  him  depart  to-night.' 

'Ask  the  Sheikh  whether  I  may  depart  in  the 
morning.' 

'Tell  the  prince  that,  when  the  morning  comes, 
he  will  find  I  am  his  brother.'  So  saying,  the  great 
Sheikh  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth  and  gave  it  to 
Tancred:  the  greatest  of  distinctions.  In  a  few  mo- 
ments, pipes  were  also  brought  to  Sheikh  Hassan  and 
Baroni. 

'No  harm  can  come  to  you,  my  lord,  after  smok- 
ing that  pipe,'  said  Baroni.  'We  must  make  the  best 
of  affairs.     I   have   been    in  worse  straits  with  M.  de 


t^ 


I02  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

Sidonia.  What  think  you  of  Malay  pirates?  These 
are  all  gentlemen.' 

While  Baroni  was  speaking,  a  young  man  slowly 
and  with  dignity  passed  through  the  bystanders,  ad- 
vanced, and,  looking  very  earnestly  at  Tancred,  seated 
himself  on  the  same  carpet  as  the  grand  Sheikh. 
This  action  alone  would  have  betokened  the  quahty 
of  the  newcomer,  had  not  his  kefia,  similar  to  that 
of  Sheikh  Amalek,  and  his  whole  bearing,  clearly  de- 
noted his  princely  character.  He  was  very  young; 
and  Tancred,  while  he  was  struck  by  his  earnest 
gaze,  was  attracted  by  his  physiognomy,  which,  in- 
deed, from  its  refined  beauty  and  cast  of  impassioned 
intelligence,  was  highly  interesting. 

Preparations  all  this  time  had  been  making  for  the 
feast.  Half  a  dozen  sheep  had  been  given  to  the  re- 
turning band;  everywhere  resounded  the  grinding  of 
coffee;  men  passed,  carrying  pitchers  of  leban  and 
panniers  of  bread  cakes  hot  from  their  simple  oven. 
The  great  Sheikh,  who  had  asked  many  questions 
after  the  oriental  fashion:  which  was  the  most  power- 
ful nation,  England  or  France;  what  was  the  name 
of  a  third  European  nation  of  which  he  had  heard, 
white  men  with  flat  noses  in  green  coats;  whether 
the  nation  of  white  men  with  flat  noses  in  green 
coats  could  have  taken  Acre  as  the  English  had,  the 
taking  of  Acre  being  the  test  of  military  prowess; 
how  many  horses  the  Queen  of  the  English  had,  and 
how  many  slaves;  whether  English  pistols  are  good; 
whether  the  English  drink  wine;  whether  the  English 
are  Christian  giaours  or  Pagan  giaours  ?  and  so  on, 
now  invited  Tancred,  Sheikh  Hassan,  and  two  or 
three  others,  to  enter  his  pavilion  and  partake  of  the 
banquet. 


TANCRED  103 

'The  Sheikh  must  excuse  me,'  said  Tancred  to 
Baroni;  'I  am  wearied  and  wounded.  Ask  if  I  can 
retire  and  have  a  tent.' 

'Are  you  wounded?'  said  the  young  Sheikh,  who 
was  sitting  on  the  carpet  of  Amalek,  and  speaking, 
not  only  in  a  tone  of  touching  sympathy,  but  in  the 
language  of  Franguestan. 

'Not  severely,'  said  Tancred,  less  abruptly  than  he 
had  yet  spoken,  for  the  manner  and  the  appearance 
of  the  youth  touched  him,  'but  this  is  my  first  fight, 
and  perhaps  I  make  too  much  of  it.  However,  my 
arm  is  painful  and  stiff,  and  indeed,  you  may  conceive 
after  all  this,  I  could  wish  for  a  little  repose.' 

'  The  great  Sheikh  has  allotted  you  a  compartment 
of  his  pavilion,'  said  the  youth;  'but  it  will  prove  a 
noisy  resting-place,  I  fear,  for  a  wounded  man.  I 
have  a  tent  here,  an  humbler  one,  but  which  is  at 
least  tranquil.     Let  me  be  your  host!' 

'  You  are  most  gracious,  and  I  should  be  much  in- 
clined to  be  your  guest,  but  I  am  a  prisoner,'  he 
said,  haughtily,  'and  cannot  presume  to  follow  my  own 
will.' 

'I  will  arrange  all,'  said  the  youth,  and  he  con- 
versed with  Sheikh  Amalek  for  some  moments. 
Then  they  all  rose,  the  young  man  advancing  to  Tan- 
cred, and  saying  in  a  sweet  coaxing  voice,  '  You  are 
under  my  care.  I  will  not  be  a  cruel  gaoler;  I  could 
not  be  to  you.'  So  saying,  making  their  reverence 
to  the  great  Sheikh,  the  two  young  men  retired 
together  from  the  arena.  Baroni  would  have  followed 
them,  when  the  youth  stopped  him,  saying,  with 
decision,  'The  great  Sheikh  expects  your  presence; 
you  must  on  no  account  be  absent.  I  will  tend 
your  chief:  you  will    permit   me?'   he   inquired  in   a 


I04  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

tone  of  sympathy,  and  then,  offering  to  support  the 
arm  of  Tancred,  he  murmured,  '  It  kills  me  to  think 
that  you  are  wounded.' 

Tancred  was  attracted  to  the  young  stranger:  his 
prepossessing  appearance,  his  soft  manners,  the  con- 
trast which  they  afforded  to  all  around,  and  to  the 
scenes  and  circumstances  which  Tancred  had  recently 
experienced,  were  winning.  Tancred,  therefore,  gladly 
accompanied  him  to  his  pavilion,  which  was  pitched 
outside  the  amphitheatre,  and  stood  apart.  Notwith- 
standing the  modest  description  of  his  tent  by  the 
young  Sheikh,  it  was  by  no  means  inconsiderable  in 
size,  for  it  possessed  several  compartments,  and  was 
of  a  different  colour  and  fashion  from  those  of  the 
rest  of  the  tribe.  Several  steeds  were  picketed  in 
Arab  fashion  near  its  entrance,  and  a  group  of  at- 
tendants, smoking  and  conversing  with  great  anima- 
tion, were  sitting  in  a  circle  close  at  hand.  They 
pressed  their  hands  to  their  hearts  as  Tancred  and  his 
host  passed  them,  but  did  not  rise.  Within  the  pa- 
vilion, Tancred  found  a  luxurious  medley  of  cushions 
and  soft  carpets,  forming  a  delightful  divan;  pipes  and 
arms,  and,  to  his  great  surprise,  several  numbers  of 
a  French  newspaper  published  at  Smyrna. 

'Ah!'  exclaimed  Tancred,  throwing  himself  on  the 
divan,  'after  all  I  have  gone  through  to-day,  this  Is 
indeed  a  great  and  an  unexpected  relief.' 

"Tis  your  own  divan,'  said  the  young  Arab,  clap- 
ping his  hands;  'and  when  I  have  given  some  orders 
for  your  comfort,  I  shall  only  be  your  guest,  though 
not  a  distant  one.'  He  spoke  some  words  in  Arabic 
to  an  attendant  who  entered,  and  who  returned  very 
shortly  with  a  silver  lamp  fed  with  palm  oil,  which 
he  placed  on  the  ground. 


TANCRED  105 

'I  have  two  poor  Englishmen  here,'  said  Tancred, 
'my  servants;  they  must  be  in  sad  straits;  unable  to 
speak  a  word ' 

'I  will  give  orders  that  they  shall  attend  you.  In 
the  meantime  you  must  refresh  yourself,  however 
lightly,  before  you  repose.'  At  this  moment  there 
entered  the  tent  several  attendants  with  a  variety  of 
dishes,  which  Tancred  would  have  declined,  but  the 
young  Sheikh,  selecting  one  of  them,  said,  'This,  at 
least,  I  must  urge  you  to  taste,  for  it  is  a  favourite 
refreshment  with  us  after  great  fatigue,  and  has  some 
properties  of  great  virtue.'  So  saying,  he  handed  to 
Tancred  a  dish  of  bread,  dates,  and  prepared  cream, 
which  Tancred,  notwithstanding  his  previous  want  of 
relish,  cheerfully  admitted  to  be  excellent.  After  this, 
as  Tancred  would  partake  of  no  other  dish,  pipes 
were  brought  to  the  two  young  men,  who,  reclining 
on  the  divan,  smoked  and  conversed. 

'Of  all  the  strange  things  that  have  happened  to 
me  to-day,'  said  Tancred,  'not  the  least  surprising, 
and  certainly  the  most  agreeable,  has  been  making 
your  acquaintance.  Your  courtesy  has  much  com- 
pensated me  for  the  rude  treatment  of  your  tribe;  but, 
1  confess,  such  refinement  is  what,  under  any  circum- 
stances, I  should  not  have  expected  to  find  among 
the  tents  of  the  desert,  any  more  than  this  French 
journal.' 

'I  am  not  an  Arab,'  said  the  young  man,  speak- 
ing slowly  and  with  an  air  of  some  embarrassment. 

'Ah!'  exclaimed  Tancred. 

'1  am  a  Christian  prince.' 

'Yes!' 

'  A  prince  of  the  Lebanon,  devoted  to  the  English, 
and  one  who  has  suffered  much  in  their  cause.' 


io6  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'You  are  not  a  prisoner  here,  like  myself?' 

'No,  1  am  here,  seeking  some  assistance  for  those 
sufferers  who  should  be  my  subjects,  were  I  not  de- 
prived of  my  sceptre,  and  they  of  a  prince  whose 
family  has  reigned  over  and  protected  them  for  more 
than  seven  centuries.  The  powerful  tribe  of  which 
Sheikh  Amalek  is  the  head  often  pitch  their  tents  in 
the  great  Syrian  desert,  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Damascus,  and  there  are  affairs  in  which  they  can  aid 
my  unhappy  people.' 

'It  is  a  great  position,  yours,'  said  Tancred,  in  an 
animated  tone,  'at  the  same  time  a  Syrian  and  a 
Christian  prince! ' 

'Yes,'  said  the  young  Emir,  eagerly,  'if  the  Eng- 
lish would  only  understand  their  own  interests,  with 
my  co-operation  Syria  might  be  theirs.' 

'The  English!'  said  Tancred,  'why  should  the 
English  take  Syria?' 

'France  will  take  it  if  they  do  not.' 

'1  hope  not,'  said  Tancred. 

'But  something  must  be  done,'  said  the  Emir. 
'The  Porte  never  could  govern  it.  Do  you  think 
anybody  in  Lebanon  really  cares  for  the  Pasha  of 
Damascus?  If  the  Egyptians  had  not  disarmed  the 
mountain,  the  Turks  would  be  driven  out  of  Syria  in 
a  week.' 

'A  Syrian  and  a  Christian  prince!'  said  Tancred, 
musingly.  •  There  are  elements  in  that  position 
stronger  than  the  Porte,  stronger  than  England, 
stronger  than  united  Europe.  Syria  was  a  great 
country  when  France  and  England  were  forests.  The 
tricolour  has  crossed  the  Alps  and  the  Rhine,  and 
the   flag    of  England    has  beaten  even   the   tricolour; 


TANCRED  107 

but  if  I  were  a  Syrian  prince,  I  would  raise  tlie 
cross  of  Clirist  and  ask  for  the  aid  of  no  foreign 
banner.' 

'If  1  could  only  raise  a  loan,'  said  the  Emir,  'I 
could  do  without  France  and  England.' 

'A  loan!'  exclaimed  Tancred;  'I  see  the  poison  of 
modern  liberalism  has  penetrated  even  the  desert. 
Believe  me,  national  redemption  is  not  an  affair  of 
usury.' 

At  this  moment  there  was  some  little  disturbance 
without  the  tent,  which  it  seems  was  occasioned  by 
the  arrival  of  Tancred's  servants,  Freeman  and  True- 
man.  These  excellent  young  men  persisted  in  ad- 
dressing the  Arabs  in  their  native  English,  and,  though 
we  cannot  for  a  moment  believe  that  they  fancied 
themselves  understood,  still,  from  a  mixture  of  pride 
and  perverseness  peculiarly  British,  they  continued 
their  valuable  discourse  as  if  every  word  told,  or,  if 
not  apprehended,  was  a  striking  proof  of  the  sheer 
stupidity  of  their  new  companions.  The  noise  be- 
came louder  and  louder,  and  at  length  Freeman  and 
Trueman  entered. 

'Well,'  said  Tancred,  'and  how  have  you  been 
getting  on.?' 

'Well,  my  lord,  I  don't  know,'  said  Freeman, 
with  a  sort  of  jolly  sneer;  'we  have  been  dining  with 
the  savages.' 

'They  are  not  savages,  Freeman.' 

'Well,  my  lord,  they  have  not  much  more  clothes, 
anyhow;  and  as  for  knives  and  forks,  there  is  not 
such  a  thing  known.' 

'  As  for  that,  there  was  not  such  a  thing  known 
as  a  fork   in   England  Httle  more  than  two   hundred 


io8  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

years  ago,  and  we  were  not  savages  then;  for  the 
best  part  of  Montacute  Castle  was  built  long  before 
that  time.' 

'I  wish  we  were  there,  my  lord!' 

'I  dare  say  you  do:  however,  we  must  make  the 
best  of  present  circumstances.  I  wanted  to  know,  in 
the  first  place,  whether  you  had  food;  as  for  lodging, 
Mr.  Baroni,  I  dare  say,  will  manage  something  for 
you;  and  if  not,  you  had  better  quarter  yourselves  by 
the  side  of  this  tent.  With  your  own  cloaks  and 
mine,  you  will  manage  very  well.' 

'  Thank  you,  my  lord.  We  have  brought  your 
lordship's  things  with  us.  1  don't  know  what  I  shall 
do  to-morrow  about  your  lordship's  boots.  The  sav- 
ages have  got  hold  of  the  bottle  of  blacking  and  have 
been  drinking  it  like  anything.' 

'Never  mind  my  boots,'  said  Tancred,  'we  have 
got  other  things  to  think  of  now.' 

'1  told  them  what  it  was,'  said  Freeman,  'but 
they  went  on  just  the  same.' 

'Obstinate  dogs!'  said  Tancred. 

'1  think  they  took  it  for  wine,  my  lord,'  said 
Trueman.     '  1  never  see  such  ignorant  creatures.' 

'  You  find  now  the  advantage  of  a  good  educa- 
tion, Trueman.' 

'  Yes,  my  lord,  we  do,  and  feel  very  grateful  to 
your  lordship's  honoured  mother  for  the  same.  When 
we  came  down  out  of  the  mountains  and  see  those 
blazing  fires,  if  I  didn't  think  they  were  going  to 
burn  us  alive,  unless  we  changed  our  religion!  I  said 
the  catechism  as  hard  as  I  could  the  whole  way,  and 
felt  as  much  like  a  blessed  martyr  as  could  be.' 

'Well,  well,'  said  Tancred,  'I  dare  say  they  will 
spare   our   lives.      I  cannot  much  assist  you  here;  but 


TANCRED  109 

if  there  be  anything  you  particularly  want,  I  will  try 
and  see  what  can  be  done.' 

Freeman  and  Trueman  looked  at  each  other,  and 
their  speaking  faces  held  common  consultation.  At 
length,  the  former,  with  some  slight  hesitation,  said, 
'We  don't  like  to  be  troublesome,  my  lord,  but  if 
your  lordship  would  ask  for  some  sugar  for  us;  we 
cannot  drink  their  coffee  without  sugar.' 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 


Suspense. 

WOULD   not   mention   it  to   your 
lordship   last   night,'  said    Baroni; 
I  thought  enough   had  happened 
for  one  day.' 

'  But  now  you  think  I  am  suf- 
ficiently fresh  for  new  troubles.' 
'  He  spoke  it  in    Hebrew,  that   myself  and   Sheikh 
Hassan  should  not  understand  him,  but  I  know  some- 
thing of  that  dialect.' 

'In  Hebrew!     And  why  in  Hebrew?' 
'They  follow  the  laws  of  Moses,  this  tribe.' 
'Do  you  mean  that  they  are  Jews?' 
'The  Arabs  are  only  Jews   upon    horseback,'   said 
Baroni.     'This   tribe,  I    find,    call    themselves    Recha- 
bites.' 

'Ah!'  exclaimed  Tancred,  and  he  began  to  muse. 
'I  have  heard  of  that  name  before.  Is  it  possible,' 
thought  he,  'that  my  visit  to  Bethany  should  have 
led  to  this  captivity?' 

'This  affair  must  have  been  planned  at  Jerusalem,' 
said  Baroni;  'I  saw  from  the  first  it  was  not  a  com- 
mon foray.  These  people  know  everything.  They 
will  send  immediately  to  Besso;  they  know  he  is 
your    banker,    and    that   if  you    want    to    build    the 

(no) 


TANCRED  III 

Temple,  he  must  pay  for  it,  and  unless  a  most  im- 
moderate ransom  is  given,  they  will  carry  us  all  into 
the  interior  of  the  desert.' 

'And  what  do  you  counsel?' 

'In  this,  as  in  all  things,  to  gain  time;  and  prin- 
cipally because  1  am  without  resource,  but  with  time 
expedients  develop  themselves.  Naturally,  what  is 
wanted  will  come;  expediency  is  a  law  of  nature. 
The  camel  is  a  wonderful  animal,  but  the  desert 
made  the  camel.  I  have  already  impressed  upon  the 
great  Sheikh  that  you  are  not  a  prince  of  the  blood; 
that  your  father  is  ruined,  that  there  has  been  a  mur- 
rain for  three  years  among  his  herds  and  flocks;  and 
that,  though  you  appear  to  be  travelling  for  amuse- 
ment, you  are,  in  fact,  a  political  exile.  All  these  are 
grounds  for  a  reduced  ransom.  At  present  he  be- 
lieves nothing  that  I  say,  because  his  mind  has  been 
previously  impressed  with  contrary  and  more  cogent 
representations,  but  what  I  say  will  begin  to  work 
when  he  has  experienced  some  disappointment,  and 
the  period  of  re-action  arrives.  Re-action  is  the  law 
of  society;  it  is  inevitable.  All  success  depends  upon 
seizing  it.' 

'It  appears  to  me  that  you  are  a  great  philosopher, 
Baroni,'  said  Tancred. 

'I  travelled  five  years  with  M.  de  Sidonia,'  said 
Baroni.  'We  were  in  perpetual  scrapes,  often  worse 
than  this,  and  my  master  moralised  upon  every  one 
of  them.  I  shared  his  adventures,  and  I  imbibed  some 
of  his  wisdom;  and  the  consequence  is,  that  I  always 
ought  to  know  what  to  say,  and  generally  what 
to  do.' 

'  Well,  here  at  least  is  some  theatre  for  your  prac- 
tice; though,  as  far  as   I    can  form    an    opinion,    our 


112  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

course  is  simple,  though  ignominious.  We  must  re- 
deem ourselves  from  captivity.  If  it  were  only  the 
end  of  my  crusade,  one  might  submit  to  it,  like  Coeur 
de  Lion,  after  due  suffering;  but  occurring  at  the  com- 
mencement, the  catastrophe  is  mortifying,  and  I  doubt 
whether  I  shall  have  heart  enough  to  pursue  my 
way.  Were  I  alone,  I  certainly  would  not  submit  to 
ransom.  I  would  look  upon  captivity  as  one  of  those 
trials  that  await  me,  and  I  would  endeavour  to  ex- 
tricate myself  from  it  by  courage  and  address,  relying 
ever  on  Divine  aid;  but  I  am  not  alone.  I  have  in- 
volved you  in  this  mischance,  and  these  poor  Eng- 
lishmen, and,  it  would  seem,  the  brave  Hassan  and 
his  tribe.  I  can  hardly  ask  you  to  make  the  sacrifice 
which  I  would  cheerfully  endure;  and  therefore  it 
seems  to  me  that  we  have  only  one  course  —  to  march 
under  the  forks.' 

'With  submission,'  said  Baroni,  'I  cannot  agree 
with  any  of  your  lordship's  propositions.  You  take 
an  extreme  view  of  our  case.  Extreme  views  are 
never  just;  something  always  turns  up  which  disturbs 
the  calculations  formed  upon  their  decided  data.  This 
something  is  circumstance.  Circumstance  has  decided 
every  crisis  which  I  have  experienced,  and  not  the 
primitive  facts  on  which  we  have  consulted.  Rest 
assured  that  circumstance  will  clear  us  now.' 

'  I  see  no  room,  in  our  situation,  for  the  accidents 
on  which  you  rely,'  said  Tancred.  'Circumstance,  as 
you  call  it,  is  the  creature  of  cities,  where  the  action 
of  a  multitude,  influenced  by  different  motives,  pro- 
duces innumerable  and  ever-changing  combinations; 
but  we  are  in  the  desert.  The  great  Sheikh  will 
never  change  his  mind  any  more  than  his  habits  of 
life,    which    are   the   same    as    his   ancestors    pursued 


TANCRED  113 

thousands  of  years  ago;  and,  for  an  identical  reason, 
he  is  isolated  and  superior  to  all  influences.' 

'Something  always  turns  up,'  said  Baroni, 

'It  seems  to  me  that  we  are  in  2i  cul-de-sac,'  said 
Tancred. 

'There  is  always  an  outlet;  one  can  escape  from  a 
cul-de-sac  by  a  window.' 

'  Do  you  think  it  would  be  advisable  to  consult 
the  master  of  this  tent?'  said  Tancred,  in  a  lower 
tone.     'He  is  very  friendly.' 

'The  Emir  Fakredeen,'  said  Baroni. 

'  Is  that  his  name  ?  ' 

'So  I  learnt  last  night.  He  is  a  prince  of  the 
house  of  Shehaab;  a  great  house,  but  fallen.' 

'He  is  a  Christian,'  said  Tancred,  earnestly. 

'Is  he?'  said  Baroni  carelessly;  '1  have  known  a 
good  many  Shehaabs,  and  if  you  will  tell  me  their 
company,  I  will  tell  you  their  creed.' 

'He  might  give  us  some  advice.' 

'No  doubt  of  it,  my  lord;  if  advice  could  break 
our  chains,  we  should  soon  be  free;  but  in  these 
countries  my  only  confidant  is  my  camel.  Assuming 
that  this  affair  is  to  end  in  a  ransom,  what  we  want 
now  is  to  change  the  impressions  of  the  great  Sheikh 
respecting  your  wealth.  This  can  only  be  done  from 
the  same  spot  where  the  original  ideas  emanated.  I 
must  induce  him  to  permit  me  to  accompany  his 
messenger  to  Besso.  This  mission  will  take  time, 
and  he  who  gains  time  gains  everything,  as  M,  de 
Sidonia  said  to  me  when  the  savages  were  going  to 
burn  us  alive,  and  there  came  on  a  thunder-storm 
which  extinguished  their  fagots.' 

'  You  must  really  tell  me  your  history  some  day, 
Baroni,'  said  Tancred, 


114  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'When  my  mission  has  failed.  It  will  perhaps  re- 
lieve your  imprisonment;  at  present,  I  repeat,  we 
must  work  for  a  moderate  ransom,  instead  of  the 
millions  of  which  they  talk,  and  during  the  negotia- 
tion take  the  chance  of  some  incident  which  will 
more  agreeably  free  us.' 

'Ah!  I  despair  of  that.' 

'I  do  not,  for  it  is  presumptuous  to  believe  that 
man  can  foresee  the  future,  which  will  be  your  lord- 
ship's case,  if  you  owe  your  freedom  only  to  your 
piastres.' 

'  But  they  say  that  everything  is  calculation,  Ba- 
roni.' 

'No,'  said  Baroni,  with  energy,  'everything  is 
adventure.' 

In  the  meantime  the  Emir  Fakredeen  was  the  prey 
of  contending  emotions.  Tancred  had  from  the  first, 
and  in  an  instant,  exercised  over  his  susceptible  tem- 
perament that  magnetic  influence  to  which  he  was  so 
strangely  subject.  In  the  heart  of  the  wilderness  and 
in  the  person  of  his  victim,  the  young  Emir  suddenly 
recognised  the  heroic  character  which  he  had  himself 
so  vaguely  and,  as  it  now  seemed  to  him,  so  vainly 
attempted  to  realise.  The  appearance  and  the  courage 
of  Tancred,  the  thoughtful  repose  of  his  manner,  his 
high  bearing  amid  the  distressful  circumstances  in 
which  he  was  involved,  and  the  large  views  which 
the  few  words  that  had  escaped  from  him  on  the 
preceding  evening  would  intimate  that  he  took  of 
public  transactions,  completely  captivated  Fakredeen, 
who  seemed  at  length  to  have  found  the  friend  for 
whom  he  had  often  sighed;  the  steadfast  and  com- 
manding spirit,  whose  control,  he  felt  conscious,  was 
often  required  by  his    quick    but   whimsical   tempera- 


TANCRED  115 

ment.  And  in  what  relation  did  he  stand  to  this  be- 
ing whom  he  longed  to  press  to  his  heart,  and  then 
go  forth  with  him  and  conquer  the  world  ?  It  would 
not  bear  contemplation.  The  arming  of  the  Maronites 
became  quite  a  secondary  object  in  comparison  with 
obtaining  the  friendship  of  Tancred,  Would  that  he 
had  not  involved  himself  in  this  conspiracy!  and  yet, 
but  for  this  conspiracy,  Tancred  and  himself  might 
never  have  met.  It  was  impossible  to  grapple  with  the 
question;  circumstances  must  be  watched,  and  some 
new  combination  formed  to  extricate  both  of  them 
from  their  present  perplexed  position. 

Fakredeen  sent  one  of  his  attendants  in  the  morn- 
ing to  offer  Tancred  horses,  should  his  guest,  as  is 
the  custom  of  Englishmen,  care  to  explore  the  neigh- 
bouring ruins  which  were  celebrated;  but  Tancred's 
wound  kept  him  confined  to  his  tent.  Then  the 
Emir  begged  permission  to  pay  him  a  visit,  which 
was  to  have  lasted  only  a  quarter  of  an  hour;  but 
when  Fakredeen  had  once  established  himself  in  the 
divan  with  his  nargileh,  he  never  quitted  it.  It  would 
have  been  difficult  for  Tancred  to  have  found  a  more 
interesting  companion;  impossible  to  have  made  an 
acquaintance  more  singularly  unreserved.  His  frank- 
ness was  startling.  Tancred  had  no  experience  of 
such  self-revelations;  such  a  jumble  of  sublime  aspi- 
rations and  equivocal  conduct;  such  a  total  disregard 
of  means,  such  complicated  plots,  such  a  fertility  of 
perplexed  and  tenebrous  intrigue!  The  animated 
manner  and  the  picturesque  phrase,  too,  in  which  all 
this  was  communicated,  heightened  the  interest  and 
effect.  Fakredeen  sketched  a  character  in  a  sentence, 
and  you  knew  instantly  the  individual  whom  he  de- 
scribed without  any  personal  knowledge.     Unlike  the 


ii6  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

Orientals  in  general,  his  gestures  were  as  vivid  as  his 
words.  He  acted  the  interviews,  he  achieved  the  ad- 
ventures before  you.  His  voice  could  take  every 
tone  and  his  countenance  every  form.  In  the  midst 
of  all  this,  bursts  of  plaintive  melancholy;  sometimes 
the  anguish  of  a  sensibility  too  exquisite,  alternating 
with  a  devilish  mockery  and  a  fatal  absence  of  all 
self-respect. 

'It  appears  to  me,'  said  Tancred,  when  the  young 
Emir  had  declared  his  star  accursed,  since,  after  the 
ceaseless  exertions  of  years,  he  was  still  as  distant 
as  ever  from  the  accomplishment  of  his  purpose,  *  it 
appears  to  me  that  your  system  is  essentially  errone- 
ous. I  do  not  believe  that  anything  great  is  ever 
effected  by  management.  All  this  intrigue,  in  which 
you  seem  such  an  adept,  might  be  of  some  service 
in  a  court  or  in  an  exclusive  senate;  but  to  free  a 
nation  you  require  something  more  vigorous  and 
more  simple.  This  system  of  intrigue  in  Europe  is 
quite  old-fashioned.  It  is  one  of  the  superstitions  left 
us  by  the  wretched  eighteenth  century,  a  period 
when  aristocracy  was  rampant  throughout  Christen- 
dom; and  what  were  the  consequences?  All  faith 
in  God  or  man,  all  grandeur  of  purpose,  all  nobility 
of  thought,  and  all  beauty  of  sentiment,  withered  and 
shrivelled  up.  Then  the  dexterous  management  of  a 
few  individuals,  base  or  dull,  was  the  only  means  of 
success.  But  we  live  in  a  different  age:  there  are 
popular  sympathies,  however  imperfect,  to  appeal  to; 
we  must  recur  to  the  high  primeval  practice,  and  ad- 
dress nations  now  as  the  heroes,  and  prophets,  and 
legislators  of  antiquity.  If  you  wish  to  free  your 
country,  and  make  the  Syrians  a  nation,  it  is  not  to 
be  done  by  sending  secret   envoys  to    Paris   or   Lon- 


TANCRED  117 

don,  cities  themselves  which  are  perhaps  both 
doomed  to  fall;  you  must  act  like  Moses  and  Ma- 
homet.' 

'But  you  forget  the  religions,'  said  Fakredeen,  'I 
have  so  many  religions  to  deal  with.  If  my  fellows 
were  all  Christians,  or  all  Moslemin,  or  all  Jews,  or 
all  Pagans,  I  grant  you,  something  might  be  effected: 
the  cross,  the  crescent,  the  ark,  or  an  old  stone,  any- 
thing would  do:  1  would  plant  it  on  the  highest 
range  in  the  centre  of  the  country,  and  I  would  carry 
Damascus  and  Aleppo  both  in  one  campaign;  but  I 
am  debarred  from  this  immense  support;  I  could 
only  preach  nationality,  and,  as  they  all  hate  each 
other  worse  almost  than  they  do  the  Turks,  that 
would  not  be  very  inviting;  nationality,  without  race 
as  a  plea,  is  like  the  smoke  of  this  nargileh,  a  fragrant 
puff.  Well,  then,  there  remains  only  personal  influ- 
ence: ancient  family,  vast  possessions,  and  traditionary 
power:  mere  personal  influence  can  only  be  main- 
tained by  management,  by  what  you  stigmatise  as 
intrigue;  and  the  most  dexterous  member  of  the 
Shehaab  family  will  be,  in  the  long  run.  Prince  of 
Lebanon.' 

'And  if  you  wish  only  to  be  Prince  of  Lebanon, 
1  dare  say  you  may  succeed,'  said  Tancred,  'and  per- 
haps with  much  less  pains  than  you  at  present  give 
yourself.  But  what  becomes  of  all  your  great  plans 
of  an  hour  ago,  when  you  were  to  conquer  the  East, 
and  establish  the  independence  of  the  Oriental  races.?' 

'  Ah! '  exclaimed  Fakredeen  with  a  sigh,  'these  are 
the  only  ideas  for  which  it  is  worth  while  to  live.' 

'The  world  was  never  conquered  by  intrigue:  it 
was  conquered  by  faith.  Now,  I  do  not  see  that  you 
have  faith  in  anything.' 


ii8  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'Faith,'  said  Fakredeen,  musingly,  as  if  his  ear 
had  caught  the  word  for  the  first  time,  'faith!  that  is 
a  grand  idea.  If  one  could  only  have  faith  in  some- 
thing and  conquer  the  world!' 

'See  now,'  said  Tancred,  with  unusual  animation, 
'  I  find  no  charm  in  conquering  the  world  to  establish 
a  dynasty:  a  dynasty,  like  everything  else,  wears  out; 
indeed,  it  does  not  last  as  long  as  most  things;  it  has 
a  precipitate  tendency  to  decay.  There  are  reasons; 
we  will  not  now  dwell  on  them.  One  should  con- 
quer the  world  not  to  enthrone  a  man,  but  an  idea, 
for  ideas  exist  for  ever.  But  what  idea?  There  is 
the  touchstone  of  all  philosophy!  Amid  the  wreck  of 
creeds,  the  crash  of  empires,  French  revolutions,  Eng- 
lish reforms,  Catholicism  in  agony,  and  Protestantism 
in  convulsions,  discordant  Europe  demands  the  key- 
note, which  none  can  sound.  If  Asia  be  in  decay, 
Europe  is  in  confusion.  Your  repose  may  be  death, 
but  our  life  is  anarchy.' 

'I  am  thinking,'  said  Fakredeen,  thoughtfully,  'how 
we  in  Syria  could  possibly  manage  to  have  faith  in 
anything;  I  had  faith  in  Mehemet  Ali,  but  he  is  a 
Turk,  and  that  upset  him.  If,  instead  of  being  merely 
a  rebellious  Pasha,  he  had  placed  himself  at  the  head 
of  the  Arabs,  and  revived  the  Caliphate,  you  would 
have  seen  something.  Head  the  desert  and  you  may 
do  anything.  But  it  is  so  difficult.  If  you  can  once 
get  the  tribes  out  of  it,  they  will  go  anywhere.  See 
what  they  did  when  they  last  came  forth.  It  is  a 
simoom,  a  kamsin,  fatal,  irresistible.  They  are  as 
fresh,  too,  as  ever.  The  Arabs  are  always  young;  it 
is  the  only  race  that  never  withers.  I  am  an  Arab 
myself;  from  my  ancestor  who  was  the  standard- 
bearer  of  the   Prophet,    the   consciousness   of  race    is 


TANCRED  119 

the  only  circumstance  that  sometimes  keeps  up  my 
spirit.' 

M  am  an  Arab  only  in  religion,'  said  Tancred, 
'but  the  consciousness  of  creed  sustains  me.  I  know 
well,  though  born  in  a  distant  and  northern  isle,  that 
the  Creator  of  the  world  speaks  with  man  only  in 
this  land;  and  that  is  why  I  am  here.' 

The  young  Emir  threw  an  earnest  glance  at  his 
companion,  whose  countenance,  though  grave,  was 
calm.  'Then  you  have  faith?'  said  Fakredeen,  in- 
quiringly. 

'I  have  passive  faith,'  said  Tancred.  'I  know  that 
there  is  a  Deity  who  has  revealed  his  will  at  inter- 
vals during  different  ages;  but  of  his  present  purpose 
1  feel  ignorant,  and  therefore  I  have  not  active  faith; 
I  know  not  what  to  do,  and  should  be  reduced  to  a 
mere  spiritual  slothfulness,  had  I  not  resolved  to 
struggle  with  this  fearful  necessity,  and  so  embarked 
in  this  great  pilgrimage  which  has  so  strangely  brought 
us  together.' 

'But  you  have  your  sacred  books  to  consult  ?'  said 
Fakredeen. 

'There  were  sacred  books  when  Jehovah  conferred 
with  Solomon;  there  was  a  still  greater  number  of 
sacred  books  when  Jehovah  inspired  the  prophets; 
the  sacred  writings  were  yet  more  voluminous  when 
the  Creator  ordained  that  there  should  be  for  human 
edification  a  completely  new  series  of  inspired  litera- 
ture. Nearly  two  thousand  years  have  passed  since 
the  last  of  those  works  appeared.  It  is  a  greater  in- 
terval than  elapsed  between  the  writings  of  Malachi 
and  the  writings  of  Matthew.' 

'The  prior  of  the  Maronite  convent,  at  Mar  Hanna, 
has  often  urged  on  me,  as  conclusive  evidence  of  the 


I20  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

falseness  of  Mahomet's  mission,  that  our  Lord  Jesus 
declared  that  after  him  "many  false  prophets  should 
arise,"  and  warned  his  followers.' 

'There  spoke  the  Prince  of  Israel,'  said  Tancred, 
'not  the  universal  Redeemer.  He  warned  his  tribe 
against  the  advent  of  false  Messiahs,  no  more.  Far 
from  terminating  by  his  coming  the  direct  communi- 
cation between  God  and  man,  his  appearance  was 
only  the  herald  of  a  relation  between  the  Creator  and 
his  creatures  more  fine,  more  permanent,  and  more 
express.  The  inspiring  and  consoling  influence  of  the 
Paraclete  only  commenced  with  the  ascension  of  the 
Divine  Son.  In  this  fact,  perhaps,  may  be  found  a 
sufficient  reason  why  no  written  expression  of  the 
celestial  will  has  subsequently  appeared.  But,  instead 
of  foreclosing  my  desire  for  express  communication,  it 
would,  on  the  contrary,  be  a  circumstance  to  author- 
ise it.' 

'Then  how  do  you  know  that  Mahomet  was  not 
inspired?'  said  Fakredeen. 

'Far  be  it  from  me  to  impugn  the  divine  commis- 
sion of  any  of  the  seed  of  Abraham,'  replied  Tancred. 
'There  are  doctors  of  our  church  who  recognise  the 
sacred  office  of  Mahomet,  though  they  hold  it  to  be, 
what  divine  commissions,  with  the  great  exception, 
have  ever  been,  limited  and  local.' 

'God  has  never  spoken  to  a  European?'  said  Fak- 
redeen, inquiringly. 

'Never.' 

'But  you  are  a  European?' 

'And  your  inference  is  just,'  said  Tancred,  in  an 
agitated  voice,  and  with  a  changing  countenance.  '  It 
is  one  that  has  for  some  time  haunted  my  soul.  In 
England,  when  I  prayed  in  vain   for  enlightenment,  I 


TANCRED  121 

at  last  induced  myself  to  believe  that  the  Supreme 
Being  would  not  deign  to  reveal  His  will  unless  in 
the  land  which  his  presence  had  rendered  holy;  but 
since  I  have  been  a  dweller  within  its  borders,  and 
poured  forth  my  passionate  prayers  at  all  its  holy 
places,  and  received  no  sign,  the  desolating  thought 
has  sometimes  come  over  my  spirit,  that  there  is  a 
qualification  of  blood  as  well  as  of  locality  necessary 
for  this  communion,  and  that  the  favoured  votary 
must  not  only  kneel  in  the  Holy  Land  but  be  of  the 
holy  race.' 

'I  am  an  Arab,'  said  Fakredeen.  'It  is  some- 
thing.' 

'If  I  were  an  Arab  in  race  as  well  as  in  religion,' 
said  Tancred,  *  I  would  not  pass  my  life  in  schemes 
to  govern  some  mountain  tribes.' 

'I'll  tell  you,'  said  the  Emir,  springing  from  his 
divan,  and  flinging  the  tube  of  his  nargileh  to  the 
other  end  of  the  tent:  'the  game  is  in  our 
hands,  if  we  have  energy.  There  is  a  combination 
which  would  entirely  change  the  whole  face  of  the 
world,  and  bring  back  empire  to  the  East.  Though 
you  are  not  the  brother  of  the  Queen  of  the  English, 
you  are  nevertheless  a  great  English  prince,  and  the 
Queen  will  listen  to  what  you  say;  especially  if  you 
talk  to  her  as  you  talk  to  me,  and  say  such  fine 
things  in  such  a  beautiful  voice.  Nobody  ever  opened 
my  mind  like  you.  You  will  magnetise  the  Queen 
as  you  have  magnetised  me.  Go  back  to  England 
and  arrange  this.  You  see,  gloze  it  over  as  they 
may,  one  thing  is  clear,  it  is  finished  with  England. 
There  are  three  things  which  alone  must  destroy  it. 
Primo,  O'Connell  appropriating  to  himself  the  revenues 
of  half  of  Her  Majesty's  dominions.     Secondo,  the  cot- 


122  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

tons;  the  world  begins  to  get  a  little  disgusted  with 
those  cottons;  naturally  everybody  prefers  silk;  1  am 
sure  that  the  Lebanon  in  time  could  supply  the  whole 
world  with  silk,  if  it  were  properly  administered. 
Thirdly,  steam;  with  this  steam  your  great  ships 
have  become  a  respectable  Noah's  ark.  The  game  is 
up;  Louis  Philippe  can  take  Windsor  Castle  when- 
ever he  pleases,  as  you  took  Acre,  with  the  wind 
in  his  teeth.  It  is  all  over,  then.  Now,  see  a  coup 
d'etat  that  saves  all.  You  must  perform  the  Portu- 
guese scheme  on  a  great  scale;  quit  a  petty  and  ex- 
hausted position  for  a  vast  and  prolific  empire.  Let 
the  Queen  of  the  English  collect  a  great  fleet,  let  her 
stow  away  all  her  treasure,  bullion,  gold  plate,  and 
precious  arms;  be  accompanied  by  all  her  court  and 
chief  people,  and  transfer  the  seat  of  her  empire  from 
London  to  Delhi.  There  she  will  find  an  immense 
empire  ready  made,  a  firstrate  army,  and  a  large 
revenue.  In  the  meantime  I  will  arrange  with  Me- 
hemet  Ali.  He  shall  have  Bagdad  and  Mesopotamia, 
and  pour  the  Bedouin  cavalry  into  Persia.  I  will 
take  care  of  Syria  and  Asia  Minor.  The  only  way  to 
manage  the  Afghans  is  by  Persia  and  by  the  Arabs. 
We  will  acknowledge  the  Empress  of  India  as  our 
suzerain,  and  secure  for  her  the  Levantine  coast.  If 
she  like,  she  shall  have  Alexandria  as  she  now  has 
Malta:  it  could  be  arranged.  Your  Queen  is  young; 
she  has  an  avenir.  Aberdeen  and  Sir  Peel  will  never 
give  her  this  advice;  their  habits  are  formed.  They 
are  too  old,  too  ruses.  But,  you  see!  the  greatest 
empire  that  ever  existed;  besides  which  she  gets  rid 
of  the  embarrassment  of  her  Chambers!  And  quite 
practicable;  for  the  only  difficult  part,  the  conquest  of 
India,  which  baffled  Alexander,   is  all  done!' 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 


A  Pilgrim  to  Mount  Sinai. 

T  WAS  not  so  much  a  conviction 
as  a  suspicion  that  Tancred  had 
conveyed  to  the  young  Emir,  when 
the  pilgrim  had  confessed  that  the 
depressing  thought  sometimes  came 
over  him,  that  he  was  deficient  in 
that  qualification  of  race  which  was  necessary  for  the 
high  communion  to  which  he  aspired.  Four-and- 
twenty  hours  before  he  was  not  thus  dejected.  Almost 
within  sight  of  Sinai,  he  was  still  full  of  faith.  But 
his  vexatious  captivity,  and  the  enfeebling  conse- 
quences of  this  wound,  dulled  his  spirit.  Alone, 
among  strangers  and  foes,  in  pain  and  in  peril,  and 
without  that  energy  which  finds  excitement  in  diffi- 
culty, and  can  mock  at  danger,  which  requires  no 
counsellor  but  our  own  quick  brain,  and  no  cham- 
pion but  our  own  right  arm,  the  high  spirit  of  Tan- 
cred for  the  first  time  flagged.  As  the  twilight 
descended  over  the  rocky  city,  its  sculptured  tombs  and 
excavated  temples,  and  its  strewn  remains  of  palaces 
and  theatres,  his  heart  recurred  with  tenderness  to 
the  halls  and  towers  of  Montacute  and  Bellamont,  and 
the    beautiful    affections    beneath    those    stately   roofs, 

(■=3) 


124  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

that,  urged  on,  as  he  had  once  thought,  by  a  divine 
influence,  now,  as  he  was  half  tempted  to  credit,  by 
a  fantastic  impulse,  he  had  dared  to  desert.  Brood- 
ing in  dejection,  his  eyes  were  suffused  with  tears. 

It  v/as  one  of  those  moments  of  amiable  weakness 
which  make  us  aU  akin,  when  sublime  ambition,  the 
mystical  predispositions  of  genius,  the  solemn  sense 
of  duty,  all  the  heaped-up  lore  of  ages,  and  the  dog- 
mas of  a  high  philosophy  alike  desert  us,  or  sink  into 
nothingness.  The  voice  of  his  mother  sounded  in  his 
ear,  and  he  was  haunted  by  his  father's  anxious 
glance.  Why  was  he  there?  Why  was  he,  the 
child  of  a  northern  isle,  in  the  heart  of  the  Stony 
Arabia,  far  from  the  scene  of  his  birth  and  of  his  du- 
ties ?  A  disheartening,  an  awful  question,  which,  if 
it  could  not  be  satisfactorily  answered  by  Tancred  of 
Montacute,  it  seemed  to  him  that  his  future,  wher- 
ever or  however  passed,  must  be  one  of  intolerable 
bale. 

Was  he,  then,  a  stranger  there.?  uncalled,  unex- 
pected, intrusive,  unwelcome?  Was  it  a  morbid  cu- 
riosity, or  the  proverbial  restlessness  of  a  satiated 
aristocrat,  that  had  drawn  him  to  these  wilds  ?  What 
wilds?  Had  he  no  connection  with  them?  Had  he 
not  from  his  infancy  repeated,  in  the  congregation  of 
his  people,  the  laws  which,  from  the  awful  summit 
of  these  surrounding  mountains,  the  Father  of  all  had 
Himself  delivered  for  the  government  of  mankind? 
These  Arabian  laws  regulated  his  life.  And  the  wan- 
derings of  an  Arabian  tribe  in  this  *  great  and  terri- 
ble wilderness,'  under  the  immediate  direction  of  the 
Creator,  sanctified  by  His  miracles,  governed  by  His 
counsels,  illumined  by  His  presence,  had  been  the 
first  and   guiding  history  that   had    been    entrusted    to 


TANCRED  125 

his  young  intelligence,  from  which  it  had  drawn  its 
first  pregnant  examples  of  human  conduct  and  divine 
interposition,  and  formed  its  first  dim  conceptions  of 
the  relations  between  man  and  God.  Why,  then,  he 
had  a  right  to  be  here!  He  had  a  connection  with 
these  regions;  they  had  a  hold  upon  him.  He  was 
not  here  like  an  Indian  Brahmin,  who  visits  Europe 
from  a  principle  of  curiosity,  however  rational  or  how- 
ever refined.  The  land  which  the  Hindoo  visits  is 
not  his  land,  nor  his  father's  land;  the  laws  which 
regulate  it  are  not  his  laws,  and  the  faith  which  fills 
its  temples  is  not  the  revelation  that  floats  upon  his 
sacred  Ganges.  But  for  this  English  youth,  words 
had  been  uttered  and  things  done,  more  than  thirty 
centuries  ago,  in  this  stony  wilderness,  which  influ- 
enced his  opinions  and  regulated  his  conduct  every 
day  of  his  life,  in  that  distant  and  seagirt  home, 
which,  at  the  time  of  their  occurrence,  was  not  as 
advanced  in  civilisation  as  the  Polynesian  groups  or 
the  islands  of  New  Zealand.  The  life  and  property  of 
England  are  protected  by  the  laws  of  Sinai.  The 
hard-working  people  of  England  are  secured  in  every 
seven  days  a  day  of  rest  by  the  laws  of  Sinai.  And 
yet  they  persecute  the  Jews,  and  hold  up  to  odium 
the  race  to  whom  they  are  indebted  for  the  sublime 
legislation  which  alleviates  the  inevitable  lot  of  the 
labouring  multitude! 

And  when  that  labouring  multitude  cease  for  a 
while  from  a  toil  which  equals  almost  Egyptian  bond- 
age, and  demands  that  exponent  of  the  mysteries  of 
the  heart,  that  soother  of  the  troubled  spirit,  which 
poetry  can  alone  afford,  to  whose  harp  do  the  people 
of  England  fly  for  sympathy  and  solace  ?  Who  is 
the   most  popular  poet  in  this  country.?      Is  he  to  be 


126  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

found  among  the  Mr,  Wordsworths  and  the  Lord  By- 
rons,  amid  sauntering  reveries  or  monologues  of  sub- 
lime satiety?  Shall  we  seek  him  among  the  wits  of 
Queen  Anne  ?  Even  to  the  myriad-minded  Shakespeare 
can  we  award  the  palm?  No;  the  most  popular  poet 
in  England  is  the  sweet  singer  of  Israel.  Since  the 
days  of  the  heritage,  when  every  man  dwelt  safely 
under  his  vine  and  under  his  fig  tree,  there  never  was 
a  race  who  sang  so  often  the  odes  of  David  as  the 
people  of  Great  Britain. 

Vast  as  the  obligations  of  the  whole  human  family 
are  to  the  Hebrew  race,  there  is  no  portion  of  the 
modern  population  so  much  indebted  to  them  as  the 
British  people.  It  was  '  the  sword  of  the  Lord  and 
of  Gideon'  that  won  the  boasted  liberties  of  England; 
chanting  the  same  canticles  that  cheered  the  heart  of 
Judah  amid  their  glens,  the  Scotch,  upon  their  hill- 
sides, achieved  their  religious  freedom. 

Then  why  do  these  Saxon  and  Celtic  societies 
persecute  an  Arabian  race,  from  whom  they  have 
adopted  laws  of  sublime  benevolence,  and  in  the 
pages  of  whose  literature  they  have  found  perpetual 
delight,  instruction,  and  consolation  ?  That  is  a  great 
question,  which,  in  an  enlightened  age,  may  be  fairly 
asked,  but  to  which  even  the  self-complacent  nine- 
teenth century  would  find  some  difficulty  in  contrib- 
uting a  reply.  Does  it  stand  thus?  Independently  of 
their  admirable  laws  which  have  elevated  our  condi- 
tion, and  of  their  exquisite  poetry  which  has  charmed 
it;  independently  of  their  heroic  history  which  has 
animated  us  to  the  pursuit  of  public  liberty,  we  are 
indebted  to  the  Hebrew  people  for  our  knowledge 
of  the    true    God    and    for    the   redemption    from    our 


TANCRED  127 

'Then  I  have  a  right  to  be  here,'  said  Tancred  of 
Montacute,  as  his  eyes  were  fixed  in  abstraction  on 
the  stars  of  Arabia;  *!  am  not  a  travelling  dilettante, 
mourning  over  a  ruin,  or  in  ecstasies  at  a  deciphered 
inscription.  I  come  to  the  land  whose  laws  I  obey, 
whose  religion  I  profess,  and  I  seek,  upon  its  sacred 
soil,  those  sanctions  which  for  ages  were  abundantly 
accorded.  The  angels  who  visited  the  Patriarchs,  and 
announced  the  advent  of  the  Judges,  who  guided  the 
pens  of  Prophets  and  bore  tidings  to  the  Apostles, 
spoke  also  to  the  Shepherds  in  the  field.  I  look  upon 
the  host  of  heaven;  do  they  no  longer  stand  before 
the  Lord  ?  Where  are  the  Cherubim,  where  the  Ser- 
aphs? Where  is  Michael  the  Destroyer.?  Gabriel  of 
a  thousand  missions?' 

At  this  moment,  the  sound  of  horsemen  recalled 
Tancred  from  his  reverie,  and,  looking  up,  he  ob- 
served a  group  of  Arabs  approaching  him,  three  of 
whom  were  mounted.  Soon  he  recognised  the  great 
Sheikh  Amalek,  and  Hassan,  the  late  commander  of 
his  escort.  The  young  Syrian  Emir  was  their  com- 
panion. This  was  a  visit  of  hospitable  ceremony 
from  the  great  Sheikh  to  his  distinguished  prisoner. 
Amalek,  pressing  his  hand  to  his  heart,  gave  Tancred 
the  salute  of  peace,  and  then,  followed  by  Hassan, 
who  had  lost  nothing  of  his  calm  self-respect,  but 
who  conducted  himself  as  if  he  were  still  free,  the 
great  Sheikh  seated  himself  on  the  carpet  that  was 
spread  before  the  tent,  and  took  the  pipe,  which  was 
immediately  offered  him  by  Freeman  and  Trueman, 
following  the  instructions  of  an  attendant  of  the  Emir 
Fakredeen. 

After  the  usual  compliments  and  some  customary 
observations  about  horses  and  pistols,  Fakredeen,  who 


128  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

had  seated  himself  close  to  Tancred,  with  a  kind  of 
shrinking  cajolery,  as  if  he  were  seeking  the  protec- 
tion of  some  superior  being,  addressing  Amalek  in  a 
tone  of  easy  assurance,  which  remarkably  contrasted 
with  the  sentimental  deference  he  displayed  towards 
his  prisoner,  said: 

'Sheikh  of  Sheikhs,  there  is  but  one  God:  now  is 
it  Allah,  or  Jehovah?' 

'  The  palm  tree  is  sometimes  called  a  date  tree, 
replied  Amalek,   'but  there  is  only  one  tree.' 

'Good,'  said  Fakredeen,  'but  you  do  not  pray  to 
Allah?' 

*I  pray  as  my  fathers  prayed,'  said  Amalek. 

'And  you  pray  to  Jehovah?' 

'  It  is  said.' 

'Sheikh  Hassan,'  said  the  Emir,  'there  is  but  one 
God,  and  his  name  is  Jehovah.  Why  do  you  not 
pray  to  Jehovah?' 

'Truly  there  is  but  one  God,'  said  Sheikh  Hassan, 
'  and  Mahomet  is  his  Prophet.  He  told  my  fathers  to 
pray  to  Allah,  and  to  Allah  I  pray.' 

'  Is  Mahomet  the  prophet  of  God,  Sheikh  of 
Sheikhs?' 

'It  may  be,'  replied  Amalek,  with  a  nod  of  assent. 

'Then  why  do  you  not  pray  as  Sheikh  Hassan?' 

*  Because  Moses,  without  doubt  the  prophet  of 
God, —  for  all  believe  in  him,  Sheikh  Hassan,  and  Emir 
Fakredeen,  and  you  too,  Prince,  brother  of  queens, — 
married  into  our  family  and  taught  us  to  pray  to  Je- 
hovah. There  may  be  other  prophets,  but  the  chil- 
dren of  Jethro  would  indeed  ride  on  asses  were  they 
not  content  with  Moses.' 

'And  you  have  his  five  books?'  inquired  Tan- 
cred. 


TANCRED  129 

'We  had  them  from  the  beginning,  and  we  shall 
keep  them  to  the  end.' 

*  And  you  learnt  in  them  that  Moses  married  the 
daughter  of  Jethro?' 

*  Did  I  learn  in  them  that  1  have  wells  and  camels  ? 
We  want  no  books  to  tell  us  who  married  our 
daughters.' 

'  And  yet  it  is  not  yesterday  that  Moses  fled  from 
Egypt  into  Midian.?' 

'  It  is  not  yesterday  for  those  who  live  in  cities, 
where  they  say  at  one  gate  that  it  is  morning,  and 
at  another  it  is  night.  Where  men  tell  lies,  the 
deed  of  the  dawn  is  the  secret  of  sunset.  But  in 
the  desert  nothing  changes;  neither  the  acts  of  a 
man's  life,  nor  the  words  of  a  man's  lips.  We  drink 
at  the  same  well  where  Moses  helped  Zipporah,  we 
tend  the  same  flocks,  we  live  under  the  same  tents; 
our  words  have  changed  as  little  as  our  waters,  our 
habits,  or  our  dwellings.  What  my  father  learnt  from 
those  before  him,  he  delivered  to  me,  and  I  have  told 
it  to  my  son.  What  is  time  and  what  is  truth,  that 
1  should  forget  that  a  prophet  of  Jehovah  married  into 
my  house  }' 

'Where  little  is  done,  little  is  said,'  observed 
Sheikh  Hassan,  'and  silence  is  the  mother  of  truth. 
Since  the  Hegira,  nothing  has  happened  in  Arabia, 
and  before  that  was  Moses,  and  before  him  the 
giants.' 

'Let  truth  always  be  spoken,'  said  Amalek;  'your 
words  are  a  flowing  stream,  and  the  children  of 
Rechab  and  the  tribes  of  the  Senites  never  joined  him 
of  Mecca,  for  they  had  the  five  books,  and  they  said, 
"Is  not  that  enough?"  They  withdrew  to  the  Syrian 
wilderness,    and    they    multiplied.      But    the    sons    of 

16     B.  D.— 9 


I30  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

Koreidha,  who  also  had  the  five  books,  but  who 
were  not  children  of  Rechab,  but  who  came  into  the 
desert  near  Medina  after  Nebuchadnezzar  had  destroyed 
EI  Khuds,  they  first  joined  him  of  Mecca,  and  then 
they  made  war  on  him,  and  he  broke  their  bows  and 
led  them  into  captivity;  and  they  are  to  be  found  in 
the  cities  of  Yemen  to  this  day;  the  children  of  Israel 
who  live  in  the  cities  of  Yemen  are  the  tribe  of  Ko- 
reidha.' 

'Unhappy  sons  of  Koreidha,  who  made  war  upon 
the  Prophet,  and  who  live  in  cities!'  said  Sheikh 
Hassan,  taking  a  fresh  pipe. 

'And  perhaps,'  said  the  young  Emir,  'if  you  had 
not  been  children  of  Jethro,  you  might  have  acknowl- 
edged him  of  Mecca,  Sheikh  of  Sheikhs.' 

'There  is  but  one  God,'  said  Amalek;  'but  there 
may  be  many  prophets.  It  becomes  not  a  son  of 
Jethro  to  seek  other  than  Moses.  But  I  will  not  say 
that  the  Koran  comes  not  from  God,  since  it  was  writ- 
ten by  one  who  was  of  the  tribe  of  Koreish,  and  the 
tribe  of  Koreish  are  the  lineal  descendants  of  Ibrahim.' 

*  And  you  believe  that  the  Word  of  God  could 
come  only  to  the  seed  of  Abraham?'  asked  Tancred, 
eagerly. 

'I  and  my  fathers  have  watered  our  flocks  in  the 
wilderness  since  time  was,'  replied  Amalek;  'we  have 
seen  the  Pharaohs,  and  Nebuchadnezzar,  and  Iskander, 
and  the  Romans,  and  the  Sultan  of  the  Ftench:  they 
conquered  everything  except  us;  and  where  are  they .? 
They  are  sand.  Let  men  doubt  of  unicorns:  but  of 
one  thing  there  can  be  no  doubt,  that  God  never 
spoke  except  to  an  Arab.' 

Tancred  covered  his  face  with  his  hands.  Then, 
after    a    few    moments'    pause,    looking    up,    he    said, 


TANCRED  131 

'Sheikh  of  Sheikhs,  I  am  your  prisoner;  and  was, 
when  you  captured  me,  a  pilgrim  to  Mount  Sinai,  a 
spot  which,  in  your  behef,  is  not  less  sacred  than  in 
mine.  We  are,  as  1  have  learned,  only  two  days' 
journey  from  that  holy  place.  Grant  me  this  boon, 
that  I  may  at  once  proceed  thither,  guarded  as  you 
will.  I  pledge  you  the  word  of  a  Christian  noble, 
that  I  will  not  attempt  to  escape.  Long  before  you 
have  received  a  reply  from  Jerusalem,  I  shall  have  re- 
turned; and  whatever  may  be  the  result  of  the  visit 
of  Baroni,  I  shall,  at  least,  have  fulfilled  my  pil- 
grimage.' 

'Prince,  brother  of  queens,'  replied  Amalek,  with 
that  politeness  which  is  the  characteristic  of  the  Ara- 
bian chieftains;  'under  my  tents  you  have  only  to 
command;  go  where  you  like,  return  when  you 
please.  My  children  shall  attend  you  as  your  guardians, 
not  as  your  guards.'  And  the  great  Sheikh  rose  and 
retired. 

Tancred  re-entered  his  tent,  and,  reclining,  fell 
into  a  reverie  of  distracting  thoughts.  The  history  of 
his  life  and  mind  seemed  with  a  whirling  power  to 
pass  before  him;  his  birth,  in  clime  unknown  to  the 
Patriarchs;  his  education,  unconsciously  to  himself,  in 
an  Arabian  literature;  his  imbibing,  from  his  tender 
infancy,  oriental  ideas  and  oriental  creeds;  the  con- 
trast that  the  occidental  society  in  which  he  had 
been  reared  presented  to  them;  his  dissatisfaction 
with  that  social  system;  his  conviction  of  the  grow- 
ing melancholy  of  enlightened  Europe,  veiled,  as  it 
may  be,  with  sometimes  a  conceited  bustle,  some- 
times a  desperate  shipwreck  gaiety,  sometimes  with 
all  the  exciting  empiricism  of  science;  his  per- 
plexity  that,    between    the    Asian    revelation    and    the 


132  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

European  practice  there  should  be  so  little  conform- 
ity, and  why  the  relations  between  them  should  be 
so  limited  and  imperfect;  above  all,  his  passionate 
desire  to  penetrate  the  mystery  of  the  elder  world, 
and  share  its  celestial  privileges  and  divine  preroga- 
tive.    Tancred  sighed. 

He  looked  round;  some  one  had  gently  drawn  his 
hand.  It  was  the  young  Emir  kneeling,  his  beautiful 
blue  eyes  bedewed  with  tears. 

'You  are  unhappy,'  said  Fakredeen,  in  a  tone  of 
plaintiveness. 

'It  is  the  doom  of  man,'  replied  Tancred;  'and  in 
my  position  sadness  should  not  seem  strange.' 

'  The  curse  of  ten  thousand  mothers  on  those  who 
made  you  a  prisoner;  the  curse  of  twenty  thousand 
mothers  on  him  who  inflicted  on  you  a  wound!' 

"Tis  the  fortune  of  life,'  said  Tancred,  more  cheer- 
fully; 'and  in  truth  I  was  perhaps  thinking  of  other 
things.' 

'  Do  you  know  why  1  trouble  you  when  your 
heart  is  dark?'  said  the  young  Emir.  'See  now,  if 
you  will  it,  you  are  free.  The  great  Sheikh  has  con- 
sented that  you  should  go  to  Sinai.  I  have  two 
dromedaries  here,  fleeter  than  the  Kamsin.  At  the 
well  of  Mokatteb,  where  we  encamp  for  the  night,  1 
will  serve  raki  to  the  Bedouins;  1  have  some  with 
me,  strong  enough  to  melt  the  snow  of  Lebanon;  if 
it  will  not  do,  they  shall  smoke  some  timbak,  that 
will  make  them  sleep  like  pashas.  1  know  this  des- 
ert as  a  man  knows  his  father's  house;  we  shall  be 
at  Hebron  before  they  untie  their  eyelids.  Tell  me, 
is  it  good?' 

'Were  1  alone,'  said  Tancred,  'without  a  single 
guard,  1  must  return.' 


TANCRED  133 

'Why?' 

'Because  I  have  pledged  the  word  of  a  Christian 
noble.' 

'To  a  man  who  does  not  believe  in  Christ. 
Faugh!  Is  it  not  itself  a  sin  to  keep  faith  with  here- 
tics ? ' 

'But  is  he  one?'  said  Tancred.  'He  believes  in 
Moses;  he  disbelieves  in  none  of  the  seed  of  Abraham, 
He  is  of  that  seed  himself!  Would  I  were  such  a 
heretic  as  Sheikh  Amalek!' 

'  If  you  will  only  pay  me  a  visit  in  the  Lebanon, 
I  would  introduce  you  to  our  patriarch,  and  he  would 
talk  as  much  theology  with  you  as  you  like.  For  my 
own  part  it  is  not  a  kind  of  knowledge  that  I  have 
much  cultivated;  you  know  I  am  peculiarly  situated, 
we  have  so  many  religions  on  the  mountain;  but 
time  presses;  tell  me,  my  prince,  shall  Hebron  be  our 
point?' 

'  If  Amalek  believed  in  Baal,  I  must  return,'  said 
Tancred;  'even  if  it  were  to  certain  death.  Besides, 
I  could  not  desert  my  men;  and  Baroni,  what  would 
become  of  him  ?' 

'We  could  easily  make  some  plan  that  would  ex- 
tricate them.  Dismiss  them  from  your  mind,  and 
trust  yourself  to  me.  I  know  nothing  that  would 
delight  me  more  than  to  baulk  these  robbers  of  their 
prey.' 

'I  should  not  talk  of  such  things,'  said  Tancred; 
'I  must  remain  here,  or  I  must  return.' 

'What  can  you  want  to  do  on  Mount  Sinai?' 
murmured  the  prince  rather  pettishly,  '  Now  if  it 
were  Mount  Lebanon,  and  you  had  a  wish  to  employ 
yourself,  there  is  an  immense  field!  We  might  im- 
prove the  condition  of  the  people;  we  might  establish 


134 


BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 


manufactures,  stimulate  agriculture,  extend  commerce, 
get  an  appalto  of  the  silk,  buy  it  all  up  at  sixty 
piastres  per  oke,  and  sell  it  at  Marseilles  at  two  hun- 
dred, and  at  the  same  time  advance  the  interests  of 
true  religion  as  much  as  you  please.' 


CHAPTER   XXXIV. 
In  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow. 

EN  days  had  elapsed  since  the  cap- 
ture of  Tancred;  Amalek  and  his 
Arabs  were  still  encamped  in  the 
rocky  city;  the  beams  of  the  early 
sun  were  just  rising  over  the 
crest  of  the  amphitheatre,  when  four 
horsemen,  who  were  recognised  as  the  children  of 
Rechab,  issued  from  the  ravine.  They  galloped  over 
the  plain,  shouted,  and  threw  their  lances  in  the  air. 
From  the  crescent  of  black  tents  came  forth  the  war- 
riors, some  mounted  their  horses  and  met  their  re- 
turning brethren,  others  prepared  their  welcome.  The 
horses  neighed,  the  camels  stirred  their  long  necks. 
All  living  things  seemed  conscious  that  an  event  had 
occurred. 

The  four  horsemen  were  surrounded  by  their  breth- 
ren; but  one  of  them,  giving  and  returning  blessings, 
darted  forward  to  the  pavilion  of  the  great  Sheikh. 

'  Have  you  brought  camels,  Shedad,  son  of  Amroo.^' 
inquired  one  of  the  welcomers  to  the  welcomed. 

'We    have    been    to    El    Khuds,'    was    the    reply. 
'What  we  have  brought  back  is  a   seal  of  Solomon.' 
'From  Mount  Seir  to  the  City  of  the  Friend,  what 
have  you  seen  in  the  joyful  land.?' 

(>35) 


136  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'We  found  the  sons  of  Hamar  by  the  well-side  of 
Jumda;  we  found  the  marks  of  many  camels  in  the 
pass  of  Gharendel,  and  the  marks  in  the  pass  of 
Gharendel  were  not  the  marks  of  the  camels  of  the 
Beni-Hamar.' 

'I  had  a  dream,  and  the  children  of  Tora  said  to 
me,  "Who  art  thou  in  the  hands  of  our  father's  flocks  ? 
Are  none  but  the  sons  of  Rechab  to  drink  the  sweet 
waters  of  Edom?"  Methinks  the  marks  in  the  pass 
of  Gharendel  were  the  marks  of  the  camels  of  the 
children  of  Tora.' 

'There  is  a  feud  between  the  Beni-Tora  and  the 
Beni-Hamar,'  replied  the  other  Arab,  shaking  his  head. 
'The  Beni-Tora  are  in  the  wilderness  of  Akiba,  and 
the  Beni-Hamar  have  burnt  their  tents  and  captured 
their  camels  and  their  women.  This  is  why  the 
sons  of  Hamar  are  watering  their  flocks  by  the  well 
of  Jumda.' 

In  the  meantime,  the  caravan,  of  which  the  four 
horsemen  were  the  advanced  guard,  issued  from  the 
pass  into  the  plain. 

'Shedad,  son  of  Amroo,'  exclaimed  one  of  the  Bed- 
ouins, 'what!  have  you  captured  an  harem?'  For 
he  beheld  dromedaries  and  veiled  women. 

The  great  Sheikh  came  forth  from  his  pavilion  and 
sniffed  the  morning  air;  a  dignified  smile  played  over 
his  benignant  features,  and  once  he  smoothed  his  ven- 
erable beard. 

'My  son-in-law  is  a  true  son  of  Israel,'  he  mur- 
mured complacently  to  himself.  'He  will  trust  his 
gold  only  to  his  own  blood.' 

The  caravan  wound  about  the  plain,  then  crossed 
the  stream  at  the  accustomed  ford,  and  approached 
the  amphitheatre. 


TANCRED  137 

The  horsemen  halted,  some  dismounted,  the  drome- 
daries knelt  down,  Baroni  assisted  one  of  the  riders 
from  her  seat;  the  great  Sheikh  advanced  and  said, 
'Welcome  in  the  name  of  God!  welcome  with  a 
thousand  blessings!' 

'I  come  in  the  name  of  God;  I  come  with  a  thou- 
sand blessings,'  replied  the  lady. 

'And  with  a  thousand  something  else,'  thought 
Amalek  to  himself;  but  the  Arabs  are  so  pohshed 
that  they  never  make  unnecessary  allusions  to  busi- 
ness. 

'  Had  1  thought  the  Queen  of  Sheba  was  going  to 
pay  me  a  visit,'  said  the  great  Sheikh,  'I  would  have 
brought  the  pavilion  of  Miriam.  How  is  the  Rose  of 
Sharon?'  he  continued,  as  he  ushered  Eva  into  his 
tent.  'How  is  the  son  of  my  heart;  how  is  Besso, 
more  generous  than  a  thousand  kings.?' 

'Speak  not  of  the  son  of  thy  heart,'  said  Eva,  seat- 
ing herself  on  the  divan.  'Speak  not  of  Besso,  the 
generous  and  the  good,  for  his  head  is  strewn  with 
ashes,  and  his  mouth  is  full  of  sand.' 

'What  is  this?'  thought  Amalek.  'Besso  is  not 
ill,  or  his  daughter  would  not  be  here.  This  arrow 
flies  not  straight.  Does  he  want  to  scrape  my  pias- 
tres ?  These  sons  of  Israel  that  dwell  in  cities  will 
mix  their  pens  with  our  spears.  I  will  be  obstinate 
as  an  Azafeer  camel.' 

Slaves  now  entered,  bringing  coffee  and  bread,  the 
Sheikh  asking  questions  as  they  ate,  as  to  the  time 
Eva  quitted  Jerusalem,  her  halting-places  in  the  desert, 
whether  she  had  met  with  any  tribes;  then  he  offered 
to  his  granddaughter  his  own  chibouque,  which  she 
took  with  ceremony,  and  instantly  returned,  while 
they  brought  her  aromatic  nargileh. 


138  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

Eva  scanned  the  imperturbable  countenance  of  her 
grandfather:  calm,  polite,  benignant,  she  knew  the 
great  Sheikh  too  well  to  suppose  for  a  moment  that 
its  superficial  expression  was  any  indication  of  his  in- 
nermost purpose.  Suddenly  she  said,  in  a  somewhat 
careless  tone,  'And  why  is  the  Lord  of  the  Syrian 
pastures  in  this  wilderness,  that  has  been  so  long  ac- 
cursed?' 

The  great  Sheikh  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth, 
and  then  slowly  sent  forth  its  smoke  through  his  nos- 
trils, a  feat  of  which  he  was  proud.  Then  he  placidly 
replied:  'For  the  same  reason  that  the  man  named 
Baroni  made  a  visit  to  El  Khuds.' 

'The  man  named  Baroni  came  to  demand  succour 
for  his  lord,  who  is  your  prisoner.' 

'And  also  to  obtain  two  millions  of  piastres,' 
added  Amalek. 

'Two  millions  of  piastres!  Why  not  at  once  ask 
for  the  throne  of  Solomon.?' 

'Which  would  be  given,  if  required,'  rejoined 
Amalek.  'Was  it  not  said  in  the  divan  of  Besso,  that 
if  this  Prince  of  Franguestan  wished  to  rebuild  the 
Temple,  the  treasure  would  not  be  wanting?' 

'Said  by  some  city  gossip,'  said  Eva,  scornfully. 

'Said  by  your  father,  daughter  of  Besso,  who, 
though  he  lives  in  cities,  is  not  a  man  who  will  say 
that  almonds  are  pearls.' 

Eva  controlled  her  countenance,  though  it  was  dif- 
ficult to  conceal  her  mortification  as  she  perceived 
how  well  informed  her  grandfather  was  of  all  that 
passed  under  their  roof,  and  of  the  resources  of  his 
prisoner.  It  was  necessary,  after  the  last  remaik  of 
the  great  Sheikh,  to  take  new  ground,  and,  instead 
of  dwelling,  as   she  was   about   to  do,  on   the   exag- 


TANCRED  139 

geration  of  public  report,  and  attempting  to  ridicule 
the  vast  expectations  of  her  host,  she  said,  in  a  soft 
tone,  '  You  did  not  ask  me  why  Besso  was  in  such 
affliction,  father  of  my  mother?' 

'There  are  many  sorrows:  has  he  lost  ships?  If 
a  man  is  in  sound  health,  all  the  rest  are  dreams. 
And  Besso  needs  no  hakeem,  or  you  would  not  be 
here,  my  Rose  of  Sharon.' 

'The  light  may  have  become  darkness  in  our  eyes, 
though  we  may  still  eat  and  drink,'  said  Eva.  'And 
that  has  happened  to  Besso  which  might  have  turned 
a  child's  hair  grey  in  its  cradle.' 

'Who  has  poisoned  his  well?  Has  he  quarrelled 
with  the  Porte?'  said  the  Sheikh,  without  looking  at 
her. 

'It  is  not  his  enemies  who  have  pierced  him  in 
the  back.' 

'Humph,'  said  the  great  Sheikh. 

'And  that  makes  his  heart  more  heavy,'  said  Eva. 

'He  dwells  too  much  in  walls,'  said  the  great 
Sheikh.  'He  should  have  ridden  into  the  desert,  in- 
stead of  you,  my  child.  He  should  have  brought  the 
ransom  himself; '  and  the  great  Sheikh  sent  two  curl- 
ing streams  out  of  his  nostrils. 

'Whoever  be  the  bearer,  he  is  the  payer,'  said 
Eva.  'It  is  he  who  is  the  prisoner,  not  this  son  of 
Franguestan,  who,  you  think,  is  your  captive.' 

'Your  father  wishes  to  scrape  my  piastres,'  said 
the  great  Sheikh,  in  a  stern  voice,  and  looking  his 
granddaughter  full  in  the  face. 

'If  he  wanted  to  scrape  piastres  from  the  desert,' 
said  Eva,  in  a  sweet  but  mournful  voice,  'would 
Besso  have  given  you  the  convoy  of  the  Had]  with- 
out condition  or  abatement?' 


I40  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

The  great  Sheikh  drew  a  long  breath  from  his  chi- 
bouque. After  a  momentary  pause,  he  said,  '  In  a 
family  there  should  ever  be  unity  and  concord;  above 
all  things,  words  should  not  be  dark.  How  much 
will  the  Queen  of  the  English  give  for  her  brother.?' 

'  He  is  not  the  brother  of  the  Queen  of  the  Eng- 
lish,' said  Eva. 

'Not  when  he  is  my  spoil,  in  my  tent,'  said  Am- 
alek,  with  a  cunning  smile;  'but  put  him  on  a  round 
hat  in  a  walled  city,  and  then  he  is  the  brother  of 
the  Queen  of  the  English.' 

'Whatever  his  rank,  he  is  the  charge  of  Besso, 
my  father  and  your  son,'  said  Eva;  'and  Besso  has 
pledged  his  heart,  his  life,  and  his  honour,  that  this 
young  prince  shall  not  be  hurt.  For  him  he  feels, 
for  him  he  speaks,  for  him  he  thinks.  Is  it  to  be 
told  in  the  bazaars  of  Franguestan  that  his  first  office 
of  devotion  was  to  send  this  youth  into  the  desert  to 
be  spoiled  by  the  father  of  his  wife?' 

'Why  did  my  daughters  marry  men  who  live  in 
cities?'  exclaimed  the  old  Sheikh. 

'Why  did  they  marry  men  who  made  your  peace 
with  the  Egyptian,  when  not  even  the  desert  could 
screen  you?  Why  did  they  marry  men  who  gained 
you  the  convoy  of  the  Hadj,  and  gave  you  the  milk 
often  thousand  camels?' 

'Truly,  there  is  but  one  God  in  the  desert  and  in 
the  city,'  said  Amalek.  'Now,  tell  me,  Rose  of 
Sharon,  how  many  piastres  have  you  brought  me?' 

'If  you  be  in  trouble,  Besso  will  aid  you  as  he 
has  done;  if  you  wish  to  buy  camels,  Besso  will  as- 
sist you  as  before;  but  if  you  expect  ransom  for  his 
charge,  whom  you  ought  to  have  placed  on  your  best 
mare  of  Nedgid,  then  I  have  not  brought  a  para.' 


TANCRED  141 

'It  is  clearly  the  end  of  the  world,'  said  Amalek, 
with  a  savage  sigh. 

'Why  I  am  here,'  said  Eva,  'I  am  only  the  child 
of  your  child,  a  woman  without  spears;  why  do  you 
not  seize  me  and  send  to  Besso  ?  He  must  ransom 
me,  for  I  am  the  only  offspring  of  his  loins.  Ask  for 
four  millions  of  piastres!  He  can  raise  them.  Let 
him  send  round  to  all  the  cities  of  Syria,  and  tell  his 
brethren  that  a  Bedouin  Sheikh  has  made  his  daughter 
and  her  maidens  captive,  and,  trust  me,  the  treasure 
will  be  forthcoming.  He  need  not  say  it  is  one  on 
whom  he  has  lavished  a  thousand  favours,  whose 
visage  was  darker  than  the  simoom  when  he  made 
the  great  Pasha  smile  on  him;  who,  however  he  may 
talk  of  living  in  cities  now,  could  come  cringing  to 
El  Sham  to  ask  for  the  contract  of  the  Hadj,  by 
which  he  had  gained  ten  thousand  camels;  he  need 
say  nothing  of  all  this,  and,  least  of  all,  need  he  say 
that  the  spoiler  is  his  father!* 

'What  is  this  Prince  of  Franguestan  to  thee  and 
thine?' said  Amalek.  'He  comes  to  our  land  like  his 
brethren,  to  see  the  sun  and  seek  for  treasure  in  our 
ruins,  and  he  bears,  like  all  of  them,  some  written 
words  to  your  father,  saying,  "Give  to  this  man  what 
he  asks,  and  we  will  give  to  your  people  what  they 
ask."  I  understand  all  this:  they  all  come  to  your 
father  because  he  deals  in  money,  and  is  the  only 
man  in  Syria  who  has  money.  What  he  pays,  he  is 
again  paid.  Is  it  not  so,  Eva?  Daughter  of  my 
blood,  let  there  not  be  strife  between  us;  give  me  a 
million  piastres,  and  a  hundred  camels  to  the  widow 
of  Sheikh  Salem,  and  take  the  brother  of  the  Queen.' 

'Camels  shall  be  given  to  the  widow  of  Sheikh 
Salem,'   said   Eva,    in   a   conciliatory   voice;    'but  for 


142  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

this  ransom  of  which  you  speak,  my  father,  it  is  not 
a  question  as  to  the  number  of  piastres.  If  you  want 
a  million  of  piastres,  shall  it  be  said  that  Besso  would 
not  lend,  perhaps  give,  them  to  the  great  Sheikh  he 
loves?  But,  you  see,  my  father  of  fathers,  piastres 
and  this  Frank  stranger  are  not  of  the  same  leaven. 
Name  them  not  together,  I  pray  you;  mix  not  their 
waters.  It  concerns  the  honour,  and  welfare,  and 
safety,  and  glory  of  Besso  that  you  should  cover  this 
youth  with  a  robe  of  power,  and  place  him  upon  your 
best  dromedary,  and  send  him  back  to  El  Khuds.' 

The  great  Sheikh  groaned. 

'Have  I  opened  a  gate  that  I  am  unable  to  close?' 
he  at  length  said.  'What  is  begun  shall  be  finished. 
Have  the  children  of  Rechab  been  brought  from  the 
sweet  wells  of  Costal  to  this  wilderness  ever  accursed 
to  fill  their  purses  with  stones  ?  Will  they  not  return 
and  say  that  my  beard  is  too  white?  Yet  do  I  wish 
that  this  day  was  finished.  Name  then  at  once,  my 
daughter,  the  piastres  that  you  will  give;  for  the 
prince,  the  brother  of  queens,  may  to-morrow  be  dust.' 

'How  so?'  eagerly  inquired  Eva. 

'He  is  a  Mejnoun,'  replied  Amalek.  'After  the 
man  named  Baroni  departed  for  El  Khuds,  the  Prince 
of  Franguestan  would  not  rest  until  he  visited  Gibel 
Mousa,  and  I  said  "Yes"  to  all  his  wishes.  Whether 
it  were  his  wound  inflamed  by  his  journey,  or  grief 
at  his  captivity,  for  these  Franks  are  the  slaves  of 
useless  sorrow,  he  returned  as  wild  as  Kais,  and  now 
lies  in  his  tent,  fancying  he  is  still  on  Mount  Sinai. 
'Tis  the  fifth  day  of  the  fever,  and  Shedad,  the  son 
of  Amroo,  tells  me  that  the  sixth  will  be  fatal 
unless  we  can  give  him  the  gall  of  a  phoenix,  and 
such  a  bird  is  not  to  be  found  in  this  part  of  Arabia. 


TANCRED 


143 


Now,  you  are  a  great  hakeem,  my  child  of  children; 
go  then  to  the  young  prince,  and  see  what  can  be 
done:  for  if  he  die,  we  can  scarcely  ransom  him,  and 
I  shall  lose  the  piastres,  and  your  father  the  back- 
sheesh which  I  meant  to  have  given  him  on  the 
transaction.' 

'This  is  very  woful,'  murmured  Eva  to  herself, 
and  not  listening  to  the  latter  observations  of  her 
grandfather. 

At  this  moment  the  curtain  of  the  pavilion  was 
withdrawn,  and  there  stood  before  them  Fakredeen. 
The  moment  his  eyes  met  those  of  Eva,  he  covered 
his  face  with  both  his  hands. 

'How  is  the  Prince  of  Franguestan  ? '  inquired 
Amalek. 

The  young  Emir  advanced,  and  threw  himself  at 
the  feet  of  Eva.  '  We  must  entreat  the  Rose  of  Sharon 
to  visit  him,'  he  said,  'for  there  is  no  hakeem  in 
Arabia  equal  to  her.  Yes,  I  came  to  welcome  you, 
and  to  entreat  you  to  do  this  kind  office  for  the  most 
gifted  and  the  most  interesting  of  beings; '  and  he 
looked  up  in  her  face  with  a  supplicating  glance. 

'And  you  too,  are  you  fearful,'  said  Eva,  in  atone 
of  tender  reproach,  '  that  by  his  death  you  may  lose 
your  portion  of  the  spoil  ? ' 

The  Emir  gave  a  deprecating  glance  of  anguish, 
and  then,  bending  his  head,  pressed  his  lips  to  the 
Bedouin  robes  which  she  wore.  "Tis  the  most  un- 
fortunate of  coincidences,  but  believe  me,  dearest  of 
friends,  'tis  only  a  coincidence.  I  am  here  merely  by 
accident;  I  was  hunting,  I  was ' 

'  You  will  make  me  doubt  your  intelligence  as 
well  as  your  good  faith,'  said  Eva,  'if  you  persist  in 
such  assurances.' 


144  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'Ah!  if  you  but  knew  him,'  exclaimed  Fakredeen, 
'you  would  believe  me  when  I  tell  you  that  1  am 
ready  to  sacrifice  even  my  life  for  his.  Far  from 
sharing  the  spoil,'  he  added,  in  a  rapid  and  earnest 
whisper,  *  I  had  already  proposed,  and  could  have  in- 
sured, his  escape;  when  he  went  to  Sinai,  to  that 
unfortunate  Sinai.  I  had  two  dromedaries  here,  thor- 
oughbred; we  might  have  reached  Hebron  before ' 

'You  went  with  him  to  Sinai?' 

'He  would  not  suffer  it;  he  desired,  he  said,  to  be 
silent  and  to  be  alone.  One  of  the  Bedouins,  who 
accompanied  him,  told  me  that  they  halted  in  the 
valley,  and  that  he  went  up  alone  into  the  mountain, 
where  he  remained  a  day  and  night.  When  he  re- 
turned hither,  I  perceived  a  great  change  in  him.  His 
words  were  quick,  his  eye  glittered  like  fire;  he  told 
me  that  he  had  seen  an  angel,  and  in  the  morning 
he  was  as  he  is  now.  I  have  wept,  1  have  prayed 
for  him  in  the  prayers  of  every  religion,  I  have  bathed 
his  temples  with  liban,  and  hung  his  tent  with 
charms.  O  Rose  of  Sharon!  Eva,  beloved,  darling 
Eva,  I  have  faith  in  no  one  but  in  you.  See  him,  I 
beseech  you,  see  him!  If  you  but  knew  him,  if  you 
had  but  listened  to  his  voice,  and  felt  the  greatness 
of  his  thoughts  and  spirit,  it  would  not  need  that 
I  should  make  this  entreaty.  But,  alas!  you  know 
him  not;  you  have  never  listened  to  him;  you  have 
never  seen  him;  or  neither  he,  nor  I,  nor  any  of  us, 
would  have  been  here,  and  have  been  thus.' 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 


The  New  Crusader  in  Peril. 
JSJ 

OTWITHSTANDING  all  the  pre- 
scient care  of  the  Duke  and  Duchess 
of  Beliamont,  it  was  destined  that 
the  stout  arm  of  Colonel  Brace 
should  not  wave  by  the  side  of  their 
son  when  he  was  first  attacked  by 
the  enemy,  and  now  that  he  was  afflicted  by  a  most 
severe  if  not  fatal  illness,  the  practised  skill  of  the 
Doctor  Roby  was  also  absent.  Fresh  exemplification 
of  what  all  of  us  so  frequently  experience,  that  the 
most  sagacious  and  matured  arrangements  are  of 
little  avail;  that  no  one  is  present  when  he  is  wanted, 
and  that  nothing  occurs  as  it  was  foreseen.  Nor 
should  we  forget  that  the  principal  cause  of  all  these 
mischances  might  perhaps  be  recognised  in  the  inef- 
ficiency of  the  third  person  whom  the  parents  of 
Tancred  had,  with  so  much  solicitude  and  at  so  great 
an  expense,  secured  to  him  as  a  companion  and 
counsellor  in  his  travels.  It  cannot  be  denied  that  if 
the  theological  attainments  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Bernard 
had  been  of  a  more  profound  and  comprehensive 
character,  it  is  possible  that  Lord  Montacute  might 
not     have     deemed     it     necessary    to     embark     upon 

i6    B.  D.— lo  (  145) 


146  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

this  new  crusade,  and  ultimately  to  find  himself  in 
the  deserts  of  Mount  Sinai.  However  this  may  be, 
one  thing  was  certain,  that  Tancred  had  been 
wounded  without  a  single  sabre  of  the  Bellamont 
yeomanry  being  brandished  in  his  defence;  was  now 
lying  dangerously  ill  in  an  Arabian  tent,  without  the 
slightest  medical  assistance;  and  perhaps  was  destined 
to  quit  this  world,  not  only  without  the  consolation 
of  a  priest  of  his  holy  Church,  but  surrounded  by 
heretics  and  infidels. 

'  We  have  never  let  any  of  the  savages  come  near 
my  lord,'  said  Freeman  to  Baroni,  on  his  return, 

'Except  the  fair  young  gentleman.'  added  True- 
man,  'and  he  is  a  Christian,  or  as  good.' 

'He  is  a  prince,'  said  Freeman,  reproachfully. 
'Have  I  not  told  you  so  twenty  times?  He  is  what 
they  call  in  this  country  a  Hameer,  and  lives  in  a 
castle,  where  he  wanted  my  lord  to  visit  him.  I 
only  wish  he  had  gone  with  my  lord  to  Mount  Siny; 
I  think  it  would  have  come  to  more  good.' 

'  He  has  been  very  attentive  to  my  lord  all  the 
time,'  said  Trueman;  'indeed,  he  has  never  quitted 
my  lord  night  or  day;  and  only  left  his  side  when 
we  heard  the  caravan  had  returned.' 

'I  have  seen  him,'  said  Baroni;  'and  now  let  us 
enter  the  tent.' 

Upon  the  divan,  his  head  supported  by  many 
cushions,  clad  in  a  Syrian  robe  of  the  young  Emir, 
and  partly  covered  wifh  a  Bedouin  cloak,  lay  Tan- 
cred, deadly  pale,  his  eyes  open  and  fixed,  and  ap- 
parently unconscious  of  their  presence.  He  was  lying 
on  his  back,  gazing  on  the  roof  of  the  tent,  and  was 
motionless.  Fakredeen  had  raised  his  wounded  arm, 
which    had   fallen  from  the  couch,  and  had  supported 


TANCRED  147 

it  with  a  pile  made  of  cloaks  and  pillows.  The  coun- 
tenance of  Tancred  was  much  changed  since  Baroni 
last  beheld  him;  it  was  greatly  attenuated,  but  the 
eyes  glittered  with  an  unearthly  fire. 

'We  don't  think  he  has  ever  slept,'  said  Freeman, 
in  a  whisper. 

'  He  did  nothing  but  talk  to  himself  the  first  two 
days,'  said  Trueman;  'but  yesterday  he  has  been 
more  quiet.' 

Baroni  advanced  to  the  divan  behind  the  head  of 
Tancred,  so  that  he  might  not  be  observed,  and  then, 
letting  himself  fall  noiselessly  on  the  carpet,  he  touched 
with  a  light  finger  the  pulse  of  Lord  Montacute. 

'There  is  not  too  much  blood  here,'  he  said, 
shaking  his  head. 

'You  don't  think  it  is  hopeless?'  said  Freeman, 
beginning  to  blubber. 

'And  all  the  great  doings  of  my  lord's  coming  of 
age  to  end  in  this!'  said  Trueman.  'They  sat  down 
only  two  less  than  a  hundred  at  the  steward's  table 
for  more  than  a  week!' 

Baroni  made  a  sign  to  them  to  leave  the  tent. 
'God  of  my  fathers!'  he  said,  still  seated  on  the 
ground,  his  arms  folded,  and  watching  Tancred 
earnestly  with  his  bright  black  eyes;  'this  is  a  bad 
business.  This  is  death  or  madness,  perhaps  both. 
What  will  M.  de  Sidonia  say?  He  loves  not  men 
who  fail.  All  will  be  visited  on  me.  I  shall  be 
shelved.  In  Europe  they  would  bleed  him,  and  they 
would  kill  him;  here  they  will  not  bleed  him,  and 
he  may  die.  Such  is  medicine,  and  such  is  life! 
Now,  if  I  only  had  as  much  opium  as  would  fill  the 
pipe  of  a  mandarin,  that  would  be  something.  God 
of  my  fathers!  this  is  a  bad  business.' 


148  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

He  rose  softly;  he  approached  nearer  to  Tancred, 
and  examined  his  countenance  more  closely;  there 
was  a  slight  foam  upon  the  lip,  which  he  gently 
wiped  away. 

'  The  brain  has  worked  too  much,'  said  Baroni  to 
himself.  '  Often  have  I  watched  him  pacing  the  deck 
during  our  voyage;  never  have  I  witnessed  an  ab- 
straction so  prolonged  and  so  profound.  He  thinks  as 
much  as  M.  de  Sidonia,  and  feels  more.  There  is  his 
weakness.  The  strength  of  my  master  is  his  su- 
periority to  all  sentiment.  No  affections  and  a  great 
brain;  these  are  the  men  to  command  the  world.  No 
affections  and  a  little  brain;  such  is  the  stuff  of  which 
they  make  petty  villains.  And  a  great  brain  and  a 
great  heart,  what  do  they  make.?  Ah!  I  do  not  know. 
The  last,  perhaps,  wears  off  with  time;  and  yet  I 
wish  I  could  save  this  youth,  for  he  ever  attracts  me 
to  him.' 

Thus  he  remained  for  some  time  seated  on  the 
carpet  by  the  side  of  the  divan,  revolving  in  his  mind 
every  possible  expedient  that  might  benefit  Tancred, 
and  finally  being  convinced  that  none  was  in  his 
power.  What  roused  him  from  his  watchful  reverie 
was  a  voice  that  called  his  name  very  softly,  and, 
looking  round,  he  beheld  the  Emir  Fakredeen  on  tip- 
toe, with  his  finger  on  his  mouth.  Baroni  rose,  and 
Fakredeen  inviting  him  with  a  gesture  to  leave  the 
tent,  he  found  without  the  lady  of  the  caravan. 

*I  want  the  Rose  of  Sharon  to  see  your  lord,'  said 
the  young  Emir,  very  anxiously,  'for  she  is  a  great 
hakeem  among  our  people.' 

'  Perhaps  in  the  desert,  where  there  is  none  to  be 
useful,  I  might  not  be  useless,'  said  Eva,  with  some 
reluctance  and  reserve. 


TANCRED  149 

'Hope  has  only  one  arrow  left,'  said  Baroni,  mourn- 
fully. 

'  Is  it  indeed  so  bad  ?' 

'Oh!  save  him,  Eva,  save  him!'  exclaimed  Fakre- 
deen,  distractedly. 

She  placed  her  finger  on  her  lip. 

'Or  I  shall  die,'  continued  Fakredeen;  '  nor  indeed 
have  I  any  wish  to  live,  if  he  depart  from  us.' 

Eva  conversed  apart  for  a  few  minutes  with  Baroni, 
in  a  low  voice,  and  then  drawing  aside  the  curtain  of 
the  tent,  they  entered. 

There  was  no  change  in  the  appearance  of  Tan- 
cred,  but  as  they  approached  him  he  spoke.  Baroni 
dropped  into  his  former  position,  Fakredeen  fell  upon 
his  knees,  Eva  alone  was  visible  when  the  eyes  of 
Tancred  met  hers.  His  vision  was  not  unconscious 
of  her  presence;  he  stared  at  her  with  intentness. 
The  change  in  her  dress,  however,  would,  in  all 
probability,  have  prevented  his  recognising  her  even 
under  indifferent  circumstances.  She  was  habited  as 
a  Bedouin  girl;  a  leathern  girdle  encircled  her  blue 
robe,  a  few  gold  coins  were  braided  in  her  hair,  and 
her  head  was  covered  with  a  fringed  kefia. 

Whatever  was  the  impression  made  upon  Tancred 
by  this  unusual  apparition,  it  appeared  to  be  only 
transient.  His  glance  withdrawn,  his  voice  again 
broke  into  incoherent  but  violent  exclamations.  Sud- 
denly he  said,  with  more  moderation,  but  with  firm- 
ness and  distinctness,   'I  am  guarded  by  angels.' 

Fakredeen  shot  a  glance  at  Eva  and  Baroni,  as  if 
to  remind  them  of  the  tenor  of  the  discourse  for 
which  he  had  prepared  them. 

After  a  pause  he  became  somewhat  violent,  and 
seemed  as  if  he  would  have  waved  his  wounded  arm: 


I50  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

but  Baroni,  whose  eye,  though  himself  unobserved, 
never  quitted  his  charge,  laid  his  finger  upon  the  arm, 
and  Tancred  did  not  struggle.  Again  he  spoke  of 
angels,  but  in  a  milder  and  mournful  tone. 

'  Methinks  you  look  like  one,'  thought  Eva,  as  she 
beheld  his  spiritual  countenance  lit  up  by  a  super- 
human fire. 

■  After  a  fev/  minutes,  she  glanced  at  Baroni,  to 
signify  her  wish  to  leave  the  tent,  and  he  rose  and 
accompanied  her.  Fakredeen  also  rose,  with  stream- 
ing eyes,  and  making  the  sign  of  the  cross. 

'Forgive  me,'  he  said  to  Eva,  'but  I  cannot  help 
it.  Whenever  I  am  in  affliction  I  cannot  help  remem- 
bering that  I  am  a  Christian.' 

'1  wish  you  would  remember  it  at  all  times,' 
said  Eva,  'and  then,  perhaps,  none  of  us  need  have 
been  here;'  and  then  not  waiting  for  his  reply,  she 
addressed  herself  to  Baroni.  '1  agree  with  you,'  she 
said.  '  If  we  cannot  give  him  sleep,  he  will  soon 
sleep  for  ever.' 

'Oh,  give  him  sleep,  Eva,'  said  Fakredeen,  wring- 
ing his  hands;  'you  can  do  anything.' 

'I  suppose,'  said  Baroni,  'it  is  hopeless  to  think 
of  finding  any  opium  here.' 

'Utterly,'  said  Eva;  'its  practice  is  quite  unknown 
among  them.' 

'Send   for  some  from    El  Khuds,'  said   Fakredeen. 

'Idle!'  said  Baroni;  'this  is  an  affair  of  hours,  not 
of  days.' 

'Oh,  but  I  will  go,'  exclaimed  Fakredeen;  'you 
do  not  know  what  I  can  do  on  one  of  my  drome- 
daries!    1  will ' 

Eva  placed  her  hand  on  his  arm  without  looking 
at    him,    and    then     continued     to    address     Baroni. 


TANCRED  151 

'Through  the  pass  I  several  times  observed  a  small 
white  and  yellow  flower  in  patches.  I  lost  it  as  we 
advanced,  and  yet  I  should  think  it  must  have  followed 
the  stream.  If  it  be,  as  1  think,  but  1  did  not  observe 
it  with  much  attention,  the  flower  of  the  mountain 
arnica,  I  know  a  preparation  from  that  shrub  which 
has  a  marvellous  action  on  the  nervous  system.' 

'1  am  sure  it  is  the  mountain  arnica,  and  I  am 
sure  it  will  cure  him,'  said  Fakredeen. 

'Time  presses,'  said  Eva  to  Baroni.  'Call  my 
maidens  to  our  aid;  and  first  of  all  let  us  examine 
the  borders  of  the  stream.' 

While  his  friends  departed  to  exert  themselves, 
Fakredeen  remained  behind,  and  passed  his  time 
partly  in  watching  Tancred,  partly  in  weeping,  and 
partly  in  calculating  the  amount  of  his  debts.  This 
latter  was  a  frequent,  and  to  him  inexhaustible,  source 
of  interest  and  excitement.  His  creative  brain  was 
soon  lost  in  reverie.  He  conjured  up  Tancred  re- 
stored to  health,  a  devoted  friendship  between  them, 
immense  plans,  not  inferior  achievements,  and  inex- 
haustible resources.  Then,  when  he  remembered 
that  he  was  himself  the  cause  of  the  peril  of  that 
precious  life  on  which  all  his  future  happiness  and 
success  were  to  depend,  he  cursed  himself.  Involved 
as  were  the  circumstances  in  which  he  habitually 
found  himself  entangled,  the  present  complication  was 
certainly  not  inferior  to  any  of  the  perplexities  which 
he  had  hitherto  experienced. 

He  was  to  become  the  bosom  friend  of  a  being 
whom  he  had  successfully  plotted  to  make  a  prisoner 
and  plunder,  and  whose  life  was  consequently  en- 
dangered; he  had  to  prevail  on  Amalek  to  relinquish 
the  ransom  which   had   induced   the  great  Sheikh   to 


152  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

quit  his  Syrian  pastures,  and  had  cost  the  lives  of 
some  of  his  most  valuable  followers;  while,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  new  moon  was  rapidly  approaching, 
when  the  young  Emir  had  appointed  to  meet  Scheriff 
Effendi  at  Gaza,  to  receive  the  arms  and  munitions 
which  were  to  raise  him  to  empire,  and  for  which  he 
had  purposed  to  pay  by  a  portion  of  his  share  in  the 
great  plunder  which  he  had  himself  projected.  His 
baffled  brain  whirled  with  wild  and  impracticable 
combinations,  till,  at  length,  frightened  and  exhausted, 
he  called  for  his  nargileh,  and  sought,  as  was  his  cus- 
tom, serenity  from  its  magic  tube.  In  this  wise 
more  than  three  hours  had  elapsed,  the  young  Emir 
was  himself  again,  and  was  calculating  the  average 
of  the  various  rates  of  interest  in  every  town  in 
Syria,  from  Gaza  to  Aleppo,  when  Baroni  returned, 
bearing  in  his  hand  an  Egyptian  vase. 

'You  have  found  the  magic  flowers?'  asked  Fak- 
redeen,  eagerly. 

'The  flowers  of  arnica,  noble  Emir,  of  which  the 
Lady  Eva  spoke.  1  wish  the  potion  had  been  made 
in  the  new  moon;  however,  it  has  been  blessed. 
Two  things  alone  now  are  wanting,  that  my  lord 
should  drink  it,  and  that  it  should  cure  him.' 

It  was  not  yet  noon  when  Tancred  quaffed  the 
potion.  He  took  it  without  difficulty,  though  appar- 
ently unconscious  of  the  act.  As  the  sun  reached  its 
meridian  height,  Tancred  sank  into  a  profound  slum- 
ber. Fakredeen  rushed  away  to  tell  Eva,  who  had  now 
retired  into  the  innermost  apartments  of  the  pavilion 
of  Amaiek;   Baroni  never  quitted  the  tent  of  his  lord. 

The  sun  set;  the  same  beautiful  rosy  tint  suffused 
the  tombs  and  temples  of  the  city  as  on  the  evening 
of  their  first  forced  arrival:   still   Tancred   slept.      The 


TANCRED  153 

camels  returned  from  the  river,  the  lights  began  to 
sparkle  in  the  circle  of  black  tents:  still  Tancred  slept. 
He  slept  during  the  day,  and  he  slept  during  the  twi- 
light, and,  when  the  night  came,  still  Tancred  slept. 
The  silver  lamp,  fed  by  the  oil  of  the  palm  tree,  threw 
its  delicate  white  light  over  the  couch  on  which  he 
rested.  Mute,  but  ever  vigilant,  Fakredeen  and  Baroni 
gazed  on  their  friend  and  master:  still  Tancred   slept. 

It  seemed  a  night  that  would  never  end,  and, 
when  the  first  beam  of  the  morning  came,  the  Emir 
and  his  companion  mutually  recognised  on  their  re- 
spective countenances  an  expression  of  distrust,  even 
of  terror.  Still  Tancred  slept;  in  the  same  posture 
and  with  the  same  expression,  unmoved  and  pale. 
Was  it,  indeed,  sleep?  Baroni  touched  his  wrist,  but 
could  find  no  pulse;  Fakredeen  held  his  bright  dagger 
over  the  mouth,  yet  its  brilliancy  was  not  for  a  mo- 
ment clouded.     But  he  was  not  cold. 

The  brow  of  Baroni  was  knit  with  deep  thought, 
and  his  searching  eye  fixed  upon  the  recumbent  form; 
Fakredeen,  frightened,  ran  away  to  Eva. 

'I  am  frightened,  because  you  are  frightened,'  said 
Fakredeen,  *  whom  nothing  ever  alarms.  O  Rose  of 
Sharon!  why  are  you  so  pale?' 

'It  is  a  stain  upon  our  tents  if  this  youth  be  lost,' 
said  Eva  in  a  low  voice,  yet  attempting  to  speak  with 
calmness. 

'But  what  is  it  on  me!'  exclaimed  Fakredeen,  dis- 
tractedly. 'A  stain!  I  shall  be  branded  like  Cain. 
No,  I  will  never  enter  Damascus  again,  or  any  of  the 
cities  of  the  coast.  I  will  give  up  all  my  castles  to 
my  cousin  Francis  El  Kazin,  on  condition  that  he  does 
not  pay  my  creditors.  I  will  retire  to  Mar  Hanna.  I 
will  look  upon  man  no  more.' 


154  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'Be  calm,  my  Fakredeen;  there  is  yet  hope;  my 
responsibility  at  this  moment  is  surely  not  lighter  than 
yours. ' 

*Ah!  you  did  not  know  him,  Eva!'  exclaimed 
Fakredeen,  passionately;  'you  never  listened  to  himl 
He  cannot  be  to  you  what  he  is  to  me.  I  loved 
him!' 

She  pressed  her  finger  to  her  lips,  for  they  had  ar- 
rived at  the  tent  of  Tancred.  The  young  Emir,  drying 
his  streaming  eyes,  entered  first,  and  then  came  back 
and  ushered  in  Eva.  They  stood  together  by  the 
couch  of  Tancred.  The  expression  of  distress,  of 
suffering,  of  extreme  tension,  which  had  not  marred, 
but  which,  at  least,  had  mingled  with  the  spiritual 
character  of  his  countenance  the  previous  day,  had 
disappeared.  If  it  were  death,  it  was  at  least  beauti- 
ful. Softness  and  repose  suffused  his  features,  and 
his  brow  looked  as  if  it  had  been  the  temple  of  an 
immortal  spirit. 

Eva  gazed  upon  the  form  with  a  fond,  deep  melan- 
choly; Fakredeen  and  Baroni  exchanged  glances.  Sud- 
denly Tancred  moved,  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  and  opened 
his  dark  eyes.  The  unnatural  fire  which  had  yester- 
day lit  them  up  had  fled.  Calmly  and  thoughtfully 
he  surveyed  those  around  him,  and  then  he  said,  'The 
Lady  of  Bethany  1' 


CHAPTER   XXXVI 


The  Angel's  Message. 

.® 

ETWEEN  the  Egyptian  and  the  Ara- 
bian deserts,  formed  by  two  gulfs 
of  the  Erythraean  Sea,  is  a  pen- 
insula of  granite  mountains.  It 
seems  as  if  an  ocean  of  lava,  when 
its  waves  were  literally  running 
mountains  high,  had  been  suddenly  commanded  to 
stand  still.  These  successive  summits,  with  their 
peaks  and  pinnacles,  enclose  a  series  of  valleys,  in 
general  stern  and  savage,  yet  some  of  which  are  not 
devoid  of  pastoral  beauty.  There  may  be  found  brooks 
of  silver  brightness,  a-nd  occasionally  groves  of  palms 
and  gardens  of  dates,  while  the  neighbouring  heights 
command  sublime  landscapes,  the  opposing  mountains 
of  Asia  and  Afric,  and  the  blue  bosom  of  two  seas. 
On  one  of  these  elevations,  more  than  five  thousand 
feet  above  the  ocean,  is  a  convent;  again,  nearly  three 
thousand  feet  above  this  convent,  is  a  towering  peak, 
and  this  is  Mount  Sinai. 

On  the  top  of  Mount  Sinai  are  two  ruins,  a  Chris- 
tian church  and  a  Mahometan  mosque.  In  this,  the 
sublimest  scene  of  Arabian  glory,  Israel  and  Ishmael 
alike  raised  their  altars  to  the  great  God  of  Abraham. 

(155) 


156  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

Why  are  they  in  ruins?  Is  it  that  human  structures 
are  not  to  be  endured  amid  the  awful  temples  of  na- 
ture and  revelation;  and  that  the  column  and  the  cu- 
pola crumble  into  nothingness  in  sight  of  the  hallowed 
Horeb  and  on  the  soil  of  the  eternal  Sinai  ? 

Ascending  the  mountain,  about  half  way  between 
the  convent  and  the  utmost  height  of  the  towering 
peak,  is  a  small  plain  surrounded  by  rocks.  In  its 
centre  are  a  cypress  tree  and  a  fountain.  This  is  the 
traditional  scene  of  the  greatest  event  of  time. 

'Tis  night;  a  solitary  pilgrim,  long  kneeling  on  the 
sacred  soil,  slowly  raises  his  agitated  glance  to  the 
starry  vault  of  Araby,  and,  clasping  his  hands  in 
the  anguish  of  devotion,  thus  prays:  — 

'O  Lord  God  of  Israel,  Creator  of  the  Universe, 
ineffable  Jehovah!  a  child  of  Christendom,  I  come  to 
thine  ancient  Arabian  altars  to  pour  forth  the  heart  of 
tortured  Europe.  Why  art  thou  silent?  Why  no 
longer  do  the  messages  of  thy  renovating  will  de- 
scend on  earth?  Faith  fades  and  duty  dies.  A  pro- 
found melancholy  has  fallen  on  the  spirit  of  man. 
The  priest  doubts,  the  monarch  cannot  rule,  the  mul- 
titude moans  and  toils,  and  calls  in  its  frenzy  upon 
unknown  gods.  If  this  transfigured  mount  may  not 
again  behold  Thee;  if  not  again,  upon  thy  sacred  Syr- 
ian plains.  Divinity  may  teach  and  solace  men;  if 
prophets  may  not  rise  again  to  herald  hope;  at  least, 
of  all  the  starry  messengers  that  guard  thy  throne, 
let  one  appear,  to  save  thy  creatures  from  a  terrible 
despair!' 

A  dimness  suffused  the  stars  of  Arabia;  the  sur- 
rounding heights,  that  had  risen  sharp  and  black  in 
the  clear  purple  air,  blended  in  shadowy  and  fleeting 
masses,  the  huge  branches  of  the  cypress  tree  seemed 


AFTER   AN    ORIGINAL    DRAWING    BY    HERMAN    ROUNTREE. 


/ill J  there  appeared  to  him  a  form. 

(See  page   157.) 


TANCRED 


157 


to  stir,  and  the  kneeling  pilgrim  sank  upon  the  earth 
senseless  and  in  a  trance. 

And  there  appeared  to  him  a  form;  a  shape  that 
should  be  human,  but  vast  as  the  surrounding  hills. 
Yet  such  was  the  symmetry  of  the  vision  that  the 
visionary  felt  his  littleness  rather  than  the  colossal 
proportions  of  the  apparition.  It  was  the  semblance 
of  one  who,  though  not  young,  was  still  untouched 
by  time;  a  countenance  like  an  oriental  night,  dark 
yet  lustrous,  mystical  yet  clear.  Thought,  rather  than 
melancholy,  spoke  from  the  pensive  passion  of  his 
eyes,  while  on  his  lofty  forehead  glittered  a  star  that 
threw  a  solemn  radiance  on  the  repose  of  his  majes- 
tic features. 

'Child  of  Christendom,'  said  the  mighty  form,  as 
he  seemed  slowly  to  wave  a  sceptre  fashioned  like  a 
palm  tree,  'I  am  the  angel  of  Arabia,  the  guardian 
spirit  of  that  land  which  governs  the  world;  for 
power  is  neither  the  sword  nor  the  shield,  for  these 
pass  away,  but  ideas,  which  are  divine.  The  thoughts 
of  all  lands  come  from  a  higher  source  than  man, 
but  the  intellect  of  Arabia  comes  from  the  Most  High. 
Therefore  it  is  that  from  this  spot  issue  the  principles 
which  regulate  the  human  destiny. 

'That  Christendom  which  thou  hast  quitted,  and 
over  whose  expiring  attributes  thou  art  a  mourner, 
was  a  savage  forest  while  the  cedars  of  Lebanon,  for 
countless  ages,  had  built  the  palaces  of  mighty  kings. 
Yet  in  that  forest  brooded  infinite  races  that  were  to 
spread  over  the  globe,  and  give  a  new  impulse  to  its 
ancient  life.  It  was  decreed  that,  when  they  burst 
from  their  wild  woods,  the  Arabian  principles  should 
meet  them  on  the  threshold  of  the  old  world  to  guide 
and  to  civilise   them.     All    had    been    prepared.     The 


158  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

Caesars  had  conquered  the  world  to  place  the  Laws 
of  Sinai  on  the  throne  of  the  Capitol,  and  a  Galilean 
Arab  advanced  and  traced  on  the  front  of  the  rude 
conquerors  of  the  Caesars  the  subduing  symbol  of  the 
last  development  of  Arabian  principles. 

'Yet  again,  and  Europe  is  in  the  throes  of  a  great 
birth.  The  multitudes  again  are  brooding;  but  they 
are  not  now  in  the  forest;  they  are  in  the  cities  and 
in  the  fertile  plains.  Since  the  first  sun  of  this  century 
rose,  the  intellectual  colony  of  Arabia,  once  called 
Christendom,  has  been  in  a  state  of  partial  and  blind 
revolt.  Discontented,  they  attributed  their  suffering 
to  the  principles  to  which  they  owed  all  their  happi- 
ness, and  in  receding  from  which  they  had  become 
proportionately  miserable.  They  have  hankered  after 
other  gods  than  the  God  of  Sinai  and  of  Calvary,  and 
they  have  achieved  only  desolation.  Now  they  de- 
spair. But  the  eternal  principles  that  controlled 
barbarian  vigour  can  alone  cope  with  morbid  civilisa- 
tion. The  equality  of  man  can  only  be  accom- 
plished by  the  sovereignty  of  God.  The  longing 
for  fraternity  can  never  be  satisfied  but  under  the 
sway  of  a  common  father.  The  relations  between 
Jehovah  and  his  creatures  can  be  neither  too  numer- 
ous nor  too  near.  In  the  increased  distance  between 
God  and  man  have  grown  up  all  those  developments 
that  have  made  life  mournful.  Cease,  then,  to  seek 
in  a  vain  philosophy  the  solution  of  the  social  problem 
that  perplexes  you.  Announce  the  sublime  and  sola- 
cing doctrine  of  theocratic  equality.  Fear  not,  faint 
not,  falter  not.  Obey  the  impulse  of  thine  own  spirit, 
and  find  a  ready  instrument  in  every  human  being.' 

A  sound,  as  of  thunder,  roused  Tancred  from  his 
trance.     He    looked    around    and    above.      There    rose 


TANCRED 


59 


the  mountains  sharp  and  black  in  the  dear  purple  air; 
there  shone,  with  undimmed  lustre,  the  Arabian  stars; 
but  the  voice  of  the  angel  still  lingered  in  his  ear. 
He  descended  the  mountain:  at  its  base,  near  the 
convent,  were  his  slumbering  guards,  some  steeds, 
and  crouching  camels. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

Fakredeen  is  Curious. 

I  HE  beautiful  daughter  of  Besso,  pen- 
sive and  abstracted,  played  with 
her  beads  in  the  pavilion  of  her 
grandfather.  Two  of  her  maidens, 
who  had  attended  her,  in  a  corner 
of  this  inner  compartment,  accom- 
panied the  wild  murmur  of  their  voices  on  a  stringed 
instrument,  which  might  in  the  old  days  have  been  a 
psaltery.  They  sang  the  loves  of  Antar  and  of  Ibia, 
of  Leila  and  of  Mejnoun;  the  romance  of  the  desert, 
tales  of  passion  and  of  plunder,  of  the  rescue  of 
women  and  the  capture  of  camels,  of  heroes  with  a 
lion  heart,  and  heroines  brighter  and  softer  than  the 
moon. 

The  beautiful  daughter  of  Besso,  pensive  and  ab- 
stracted, played  with  her  beads  in  the  pavilion  of  her 
grandfather.  Why  is  the  beautiful  daughter  of  Besso 
pensive  and  abstracted  ?  What  thoughts  are  flitting 
over  her  mind,  silent  and  soft,  like  the  shadows  of 
birds  over  the  sunshiny  earth? 

Something  that  was  neither  silent  nor  soft  dis- 
turbed the  lady  from  her  reverie;  the  voice  of  the 
great  Sheikh,  in  a  tone  of  altitude  and  harshness,  with 

(i6o) 


TANCRED  i6i 

him  most  usual.  He  was  in  an  adjacent  apartment, 
vowing  that  he  would  sooner  eat  the  mother  of  some 
third  person,  who  was  attempting  to  influence  him, 
than  adopt  the  suggestion  offered.  Then  there  were 
softer  and  more  persuasive  tones  from  his  companion, 
but  evidently  ineffectual.  Then  the  voices  of  both 
rose  together  in  emulous  clamour  —  one  roaring  like  a 
bull,  the  other  shrieking  like  some  wild  bird;  one  full 
of  menace,  and  the  other  taunting  and  impertinent. 
All  this  was  followed  by  a  dead  silence,  which  con- 
tinuing, Eva  assumed  that  the  Sheikh  and  his  com- 
panion had  quitted  his  tent.  While  her  mind  was 
recurring  to  those  thoughts  which  occupied  them 
previously  to  this  outbreak,  the  voice  of  Fakredeen 
was  heard  outside  her  tent,  saying,  '  Rose  of  Sharon, 
let  me  come  into  the  harem;'  and,  scarcely  waiting 
for  permission,  the  young  Emir,  flushed  and  excited, 
entered,  and  almost  breathless  threw  himself  on  the 
divan. 

'Who  says  I  am  a  coward.^'  he  exclaimed,  with 
a  glance  of  devilish  mockery.  '  I  may  run  away 
sometimes,  but  what  of  that  ?  I  have  got  moral 
courage,  the  only  thing  worth  having  since  the  in- 
vention of  gunpowder.  The  beast  is  not  killed,  but 
I  have  looked  into  the  den;  'tis  something.  Courage, 
my  fragrant  Rose,  have  faith  in  me  at  last.  1  may 
make  an  imbroglio  sometimes,  but,  for  getting  out  of 
a  scrape,  I  would  back  myself  against  any  picaroon  in 
the  Levant;  and  that  is  saying  a  good  deal.' 

'Another  imbroglio?' 

'Oh,  no!  the  same;  part  of  the  great  blunder. 
You  must  have  heard  us  raging  like  a  thousand 
Afrites.     I  never  knew  the  great  Sheikh  so  wild.' 

'And  why?' 


i62  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'He  should  take  a  lesson  from  Mehemet  Ali,'  con- 
tinued the  Emir.  'Giving  up  Syria,  after  the  con- 
quest, was  a  much  greater  sacrifice  than  giving  up 
plunder  which  he  has  not  yet  touched.  And  the 
great  Pasha  did  it  as  quietly  as  if  he  were  marching 
into  Stambovil  instead,  which  he  might  have  done  if 
he  had  been  an  Arab  instead  of  a  Turk.  Everything 
comes  from  Arabia,  my  dear  Eva,  at  least  everything 
that  is  worth  anything.  We  two  ought  to  thank  our 
stars  every  day  that  we  were  born  Arabs.' 

'  And  the  great  Sheikh  still  harps  upon  this  ran- 
som .?'  inquired  Eva. 

'  He  does,  and  most  unreasonably.  For,  after  all, 
what  do  we  ask  him  to  give  up?  a  bagatelle.' 

'Hardly  that,'  said  Eva;  'two  millions  of  piastres 
can  scarcely  be  called  a  bagatelle.' 

'It  is  not  two  millions  of  piastres,'  said  Fakre- 
deen;  'there  is  your  fallacy,  'tis  the  same  as  your 
grandfather's.  In  the  first  place,  he  would  have  taken 
one  million;  then  half  belonged  to  me,  which  reduces 
his  share  to  five  hundred  thousand;  then  1  meant  to 
have  borrowed  his  share  of  him.' 

'Borrowed  his  share!'  said  Eva. 

'Of  course  I  should  have  allowed  him  interest, 
good  interest.  What  could  the  great  Sheikh  want 
five  hundred  thousand  piastres  for?  He  has  camels 
enough;  he  has  so  many  horses  that  he  wants  to 
change  some  with  me  for  arms  at  this  moment.  Is 
he  to  dig  a  hole  in  the  sand  by  a  well-side  to  put 
his  treasure  in,  like  the  treasure  of  Solomon;  or  to 
sew  up  his  bills  of  exchange  in  his  turban  ?  The 
thing  is  ridiculous.  I  never  contemplated,  for  a  mo- 
ment, that  the  great  Sheikh  should  take  any  hard 
piastres   out   of  circulation,    to    lock    them    up    in   the 


TANCRED  163 

wilderness.  It  might  disturb  the  currency  of  all  Syria, 
upset  the  exchanges,  and  very  much  injure  your 
family,  Eva,  of  whose  interests  I  am  never  unmind- 
ful. I  meant  the  great  Sheikh  to  invest  his  capital; 
he  might  have  made  a  good  thing  of  it.  I  could 
have  afforded  to  pay  him  thirty  per  cent,  for  his 
share,  and  made  as  much  by  the  transaction  myself; 
for  you  see,  as  I  am  paying  sixty  per  cent,  at  Bei- 
root,  Tripoli,  Latakia,  and  every  accursed  town  of 
the  coast  at  this  moment.  The  thing  is  clear;  and  I 
wish  you  would  only  get  your  father  to  view  it  in 
the  same  light,  and  we  might  do  immense  things! 
Think  of  this,  my  Rose  of  Sharon,  dear,  dear  Eva, 
think  of  this;  your  father  might  make  his  fortune  and 
mine  too,  if  he  would  only  lend  me  money  at  thirty 
per   cent.' 

*  You  frighten  me  always,  Fakredeen,  by  these  al- 
lusions to  your  affairs.  Can  it  be  possible  that  they 
are  so  very  bad ! ' 

'  Good,  Eva,  you  mean  good.  I  should  be  incapa- 
ble of  anything,  if  it  were  not  for  my  debts.  I  am 
naturally  so  indolent,  that  if  1  did  not  remember  in 
the  morning  that  1  was  ruined,  I  should  never  be 
able  to  distinguish  myself.' 

'You  never  will  distinguish  yourself,'  said  Eva; 
'you  never  can,  with  these  dreadful  embarrassments.' 

'  Shall  1  not  ? '  said  Fakredeen,  triumphantly. 
'  What  are  my  debts  to  my  resources  ?  That  is  the 
point.  You  cannot  judge  of  a  man  by  only  knowing 
what  his  debts  are;  you  must  be  acquainted  with  his 
resources.' 

'  But  your  estates  are  mortgaged,  your  crops  sold, 
at  least  you  tell  me  so,'  said  Eva,  mournfully. 

'  Estates  1  crops!     A  man  may  have  an   idea  worth 


i64  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

twenty  estates,  a  principle  of  action  that  will  bring 
him  in  a  greater  harvest  than  all  Lebanon.' 

'A  principle  of  action  is  indeed  precious,'  said 
Eva;  'but  although  you  certainly  have  ideas,  and 
very  ingenious  ones,  a  principle  of  action  is  exactly 
the  thing  which  I  have  always  thought  you  wanted.' 

'Well,  I  have  got  it  at  last,'  said  Fakredeen; 
'everything  comes  if  a  man  will  only  wait.' 

'And  what  is  your  principle  of  action?' 

'Faith.' 

'  In  yourself.?  Surely  in  that  respect  you  have  not 
hitherto  been  sceptical?' 

'No;  in  Mount  Sinai.' 

'In  Mount  Sinai!' 

'You  may  well  be  astonished;  but  so  it  is.  The 
English  prince  has  been  to  Mount  Sinai,  and  he  has 
seen  an  angel.  What  passed  between  them  I  do  not 
yet  know;  but  one  thing  is  certain,  he  is  quite 
changed  by  the  interview.  He  is  all  for  action:  so 
far  as  I  can  form  an  opinion  in  the  present  crude 
state  of  affairs,  it  is  not  at  all  impossible  that  he  may 
put  himself  at  the  head  of  the  Asian  movement.  If 
you  have  faith,  there  is  nothing  you  may  not  do. 
One  thing  is  quite  settled,  that  he  will  not  at  present 
return  to  Jerusalem,  but,  for  change  of  air  and  other 
reasons,  make  a  visit  with  me  to  Canobia.' 

'He  seems  to  have  great  purpose  in  him,'  said 
Eva,  with  an  air  of  some  constraint. 

'  By-the-bye,'  said  Fakredeen,  'how  came  you, 
Eva,  never  to  tell  me  that  you  were  acquainted  with 
him?' 

'Acquainted  with  him?'  said  Eva. 

'Yes;  he  recognised  you  immediately  when  he  re- 
covered   himself,   and    he    has   admitted    to    me    since 


TANCRED  165 

that  he  has  seen  you  before,  though  I  could  not  get 
much  out  of  him  about  it.  He  will  talk  for  ever  about 
Arabia,  faith,  war,  and  angels;  but,  if  you  touch  on 
anything  personal,  I  observe  he  is  always  very  shy. 
He  has  not  my  fatal  frankness.  Did  you  know  him 
at  Jerusalem  ? ' 

'1  met  him  by  hazard  for  a  moment  at  Bethany. 
I  neither  asked  then,  nor  did  he  impart  to  me,  his 
name.  How  then  could  1  tell  you  we  were  acquainted? 
or  be  aware  that  the  stranger  of  my  casual  interview 
was  this  young  Englishman  whom  you  have  made  a 
captive  ? ' 

'Hush!'  said  Fakredeen,  with  an  air  of  real  or 
affected  alarm.  '  He  is  going  to  be  my  guest  at  my 
principal  castle.  What  do  you  mean  by  captive  ? 
You  mean  whom  I  have  saved  from  captivity,  or  am 
about  to  save  ? 

'  Well,  that  would  appear  to  be  the  real  question 
to  which  you  ought  to  address  yourself  at  this  mo- 
ment,' said  Eva.  'Were  I  you,  I  should  postpone  the 
great  Asian  movement  until  you  had  disembarrassed 
yourself  from  your  present  position,  rather  an  equivocal 
one  both  for  a  patriot  and  a  friend.' 

'Oh!  I'll  manage  the  great  Sheikh,'  said  Fakredeen, 
carelessly.  'There  is  too  much  plunder  in  the  future 
for  Amalek  to  quarrel  with  me.  When  he  scents  the 
possibility  of  the  Bedouin  cavalry  being  poured  into 
Syria  and  Asia  Minor,  we  shall  find  him  more  man- 
ageable. The  only  thing  now  is  to  heal  the  present 
disappointment  by  extenuating  circumstances.  If  I 
could  screw  up  a  few  thousand  piastres  for  back- 
sheesh,' and  he  looked  Eva  in  the  face,  'or  could  put 
anything  in  his  way!     What  do  you  think,   Eva.?' 

Eva  shook  her  head. 


i66  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'What  an  obstinate  Jew  dog  he  is!'  said  Fakre- 
deen.     'His  rapacity  is  revolting!' 

'An  obstinate  Jew  dog!'  exclaimed  Eva,  rising, 
her  eyes  flashing,  her  nostrils  dilating  with  contemp- 
tuous rage.  The  manner  of  Fakredeen  had  not  pleased 
her  this  morning.  His  temper  was  very  uncertain, 
and,  when  crossed,  he  was  deficient  in  delicacy.  In- 
deed, he  was  too  selfish,  with  all  his  sensibility  and 
refined  breeding,  to  be  ever  sufficiently  considerate  of 
the  feelings  of  others.  He  was  piqued  also  that  he 
had  not  been  informed  of  the  previous  acquaintance 
of  Eva  and  Tancred.  Her  reason  for  not  apprising 
him  of  their  interview  at  Bethany,  though  not  easily 
impugnable,  was  not  as  satisfactory  to  his  under- 
standing as  to  his  ear.  Again,  his  mind  and  heart 
were  so  absorbed  at  this  moment  by  the  image  of 
Tancred,  and  he  was  so  entirely  under  the  influence 
of  his  own  ideaHsed  conceptions  of  his  new  and  latest 
friend,  that,  according  to  his  custom,  no  other  being 
could  interest  him.  Although  he  was  himself  the  sole 
cause  of  all  the  difficult  and  annoying  circumstances 
in  which  he  found  himself  involved,  the  moment  that 
his  passions  and  his  interests  alike  required  that  Tan- 
cred should  be  free  and  uninjured,  he  acted,  and  in- 
deed felt,  as  if  Amalek  alone  were  responsible  for  the 
capture  and  the  detention  of  Lord  Montacute. 

The  young  Emir  indeed  was,  at  this  moment,  in 
one  of  those  moods  which  had  often  marred  his 
popularity,  but  in  which  he  had  never  indulged 
towards  Eva  before.  She  had,  throughout  his  life, 
been  the  commanding  influence  of  his  being.  He 
adored  and  feared  her,  and  knew  that  she  loved,  and 
rather  despised  him.  But  Eva  had  ceased  to  be  the 
commanding   influence   over  Fakredeen.     At  this  mo- 


TANCRED  167 

ment  Fakredeen  would  have  sacrificed  the  whole 
family  of  Besso  to  secure  the  devotion  of  Tancred; 
and  the  coarse  and  rude  exclamation  to  which  he  had 
given  vent,  indicated  the  current  of  his  feelings  and 
the  general  tenor  of  his  mind. 

Eva  knew  him  by  heart.  Her  clear  sagacious  in- 
tellect, acting  upon  an  individual  whom  sympathy  and 
circumstances  had  combined  to  make  her  compre- 
hend, analysed  with  marvellous  facility  his  compli- 
cated motives,  and  in  general  successfully  penetrated 
his  sovereign  design. 

'An  obstinate  Jew  dog!'  she  exclaimed;  'and  who 
art  thou,  thou  jackal  of  this  lion!  who  should  dare  to 
speak  thus  ?  Is  it  not  enough  that  you  have  involved 
us  all  in  unspeakable  difficulty  and  possible  disgrace, 
that  we  are  to  receive  words  of  contumely  from  lips 
like  yours  ?  One  would  think  that  you  were  the 
English  Consul  arrived  here  to  make  a  representation 
in  favour  of  his  countryman,  instead  of  being  the  in- 
dividual who  planned  his  plunder,  occasioned  his 
captivity,  and  endangered  his  life!  It  is  a  pity  that 
this  young  noble  is  not  acquainted  with  your  claims 
to  his  confidence.' 

The  possibility  that  in  a  moment  of  irritation  Eva 
might  reveal  his  secret,  some  rising  remorse  at  what 
he  had  said,  and  the  superstitious  reverence  with  which 
he  still  clung  to  her,  all  acting  upon  Fakredeen  at  the 
same  time,  he  felt  that  he  had  gone  too  far,  and  there- 
upon he  sprang  from  the  divan,  on  which  he  had  been 
insolently  lolling,  and  threw  himself  at  the  feet  of  his 
foster-sister,  whimpering  and  kissing  her  slippers,  and 
calling  her,  between  his  sobs,  a  thousand  fond  names. 

'I  am  a  villain,'  he  said,  'but  you  know  it;  you 
have  always  known  it.     For  God's  sake,  stand  by  me 


i68  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

now;  'tis  my  only  chance.  You  are  the  only  being 
1  love  in  the  world,  except  your  family.  You  know 
how  I  respect  them.  Is  not  Besso  my  father?  And 
the  great  Sheikh,  I  honour  the  great  Sheikh.  He  is 
one  of  my  allies.  Even  this  accursed  business  proves 
it.  Besides,  what  do  you  mean,  by  words  of  con- 
tumely from  my  lips  ?  Am  I  not  a  Jew  myself,  or  as 
good  ?  Why  should  I  insult  them  ?  I  only  wish  we 
were  in  the  Land  of  Promise,  instead  of  this  infernal 
wilderness.' 

'Well,  well,  let  us  consult  together,'  said  Eva, 
'reproaches  are  barren.' 

'Ah!  Eva,'  said  Fakredeen,  M  am  not  reproaching 
you;  but  if,  the  evening  I  was  at  Bethany,  you  had 
only  told  me  that  you  had  just  parted  with  this  Eng- 
lishman, all  this  would  not  have  occurred.' 

'  How  do  you  know  that  I  had  then  just  parted 
with  this  Englishman.?'  said  Eva,  colouring  and  con- 
fused. 

'Because  I  marked  him  on  the  road.  I  little 
thought  then  that  he  had  been  in  your  retreat.  I 
took  him  for  some  Frank,  looking  after  the  tomb  of 
Lazarus.' 

'I  found  him  in  my  garden,'  said  Eva,  not  entirely 
at  her  ease,   'and  sent  my  attendants  to  him.' 

Fakredeen  was  walking  up  and  down  the  tent,  and 
seemed  lost  in  thought.  Suddenly  he  stopped  and 
said,  'I  see  it  all;  I  have  a  combination  that  will  put 
all  right.' 

'  Put  all  right  ? ' 

'  See,  the  day  after  to-morrow  I  have  appointed 
to  meet  a  friend  of  mine  at  Gaza,  who  has  a  caravan 
that  wants  convoy  through  the  desert  to  the  moun- 
tain.    The  Sheikh  of  Sheikhs  shall  have  it.     It  will  be 


TANCRED  169 

as  good  as  ten  thousand  piastres.  That  will  be  honey  in 
his  mouth.  He  will  forget  the  past,  and  our  English 
friend  can  return  with  you  and  me  to  El  Khuds.' 

*I  shall  not  return  to  El  Khuds,'  said  Eva.  'The 
great  Sheikh  will  convoy  me  to  Damascus,  where  1 
shall  remain  till  I  go  to  Aleppo.' 

'May  you  never  reach  Aleppo!'  said  Fakredeen, 
with  a  clouded  countenance,  for  Eva  in  fact  alluded 
to  her  approaching  marriage  with  her  cousin. 

'But  after  all,'  resumed  Eva,  wishing  to  change 
the  current  of  his  thoughts,  '  all  these  arrangements, 
so  far  as  I  am  interested,  depend  upon  the  success 
of  my  mission  to  the  great  Sheikh.  If  he  will  not 
release  my  father's  charge,  the  spears  of  his  people 
will  never  guard  me  again.  And  I  see  little  prospect 
of  my  success;  nor  do  I  think  ten  thousand  piastres, 
however  honestly  gained,  will  be  more  tempting  than 
the  inclination  to  obHge  our  house.' 

'Ten  thousand  piastres  is  not  much,'  said  Fakre- 
deen. 'I  give  it  every  three  months  for  interest  to  a 
little  Copt  at  Beiroot,  whose  property  I  will  confiscate 
the  moment  I  have  the  government  of  the  country  in 
my  hands.  But  then  I  only  add  my  ten  thousand 
piastres  to  the  amount  of  my  debt.  Ten  thousand 
piastres  in  coin  are  a  very  different  affair.  They  will 
jingle  in  the  great  Sheikh's  purse.  His  people  will 
think  he  has  got  the  treasure  of  Solomon.  It  will  do; 
he  will  give  them  all  a  gold  kaireen  apiece,  and  they 
will  braid  them  in  their  girls'  hair.' 

'It  will  scarcely  buy  camels  for  Sheikh  Salem's 
widow,'  said  Eva. 

'  I  will  manage  that,'  said  Fakredeen.  '  The  great 
Sheikh  has  camels  enough,  and  I  will  give  him  arms 
in  exchange.' 


lyo  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'  Arms  at  Canobia  will  not  reach  the  stony  wilder- 
ness.' 

'No;  but  I  have  got  arms  nearer  at  hand;  that  is, 
my  friend,  my  friend  whom  I  am  going  to  meet  at 
Gaza,  has  some;  enough,  and  to  spare.  By  the  Holy 
Sepulchre,  I  see  it!'  said  Fakredeen.  'I  tell  you  how 
I  will  manage  the  whole  business.  The  great  Sheikh 
wants  arms;  well,  I  will  give  him  five  hundred  mus- 
kets for  the  ransom,  and  he  shall  have  the  convoy 
besides.  He'll  take  it.  I  know  him.  He  thinks  now 
all  is  lost,  and,  when  he  finds  that  he  is  to  have  a 
jingling  purse  and  English  muskets  enough  to  con- 
quer Tadmor,  he  will  close,' 

'But  how  are  we  to  get  these  arms?'  said  Eva. 

'Why,  Scheriff  Effendi,  to  be  sure.  You  know  I 
am  to  meet  him  at  Gaza  the  day  after  to-morrow, 
and  receive  his  five  thousand  muskets.  Well,  five 
hundred  for  the  great  Sheikh  will  make  them  four 
thousand  five  hundred;  no  great  difference.' 

'Scheriff  Effendi!'  said  Eva,  with  some  surprise. 
'I  thought  I  had  obtained  three  months'  indulgence 
for  you  with  Scheriff  Effendi.' 

'Ah!  yes  —  no,'  said  Fakredeen,  blushing.  'The 
fact  is,  Eva,  darling,  beloved  Eva,  it  is  no  use  telling 
any  more  lies.  I  only  asked  you  to  speak  to  Scheriff 
Effendi  to  obtain  time  for  me  about  payment  to 
throw  you  off  the  scent,  as  you  so  strongly  disap- 
proved of  my  buccaneering  project.  But  Scheriff  Ef- 
fendi is  a  camel.  I  was  obliged  to  agree  to  meet  him 
at  Gaza  on  the  new  moon,  pay  him  his  two  hundred 
thousand  piastres,  and  receive  the  cargo.  Well,  I 
turn  circumstances  to  account.  The  great  Sheikh 
will  convey  the  muskets  to  the  mountains.' 

'But  who  is  to  pay  for  them?'  inquired  Eva. 


TANCRED 


171 


'Why,  if  men  want  to  head  the  Asian  movement, 
they  must  have  muskets,'  said  Fakredeen;  'and,  after 
all,  as  we  are  going  to  save  the  English  prince  two 
millions  of  piastres,  I  do  not  think  he  can  object  to 
paying  Scheriff  Effendi  for  his  goods;  particularly  as 
he  will  have  the  muskets  for  his  money.' 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 
Tancred's  Recovery. 

ANCRED  rapidly  recovered.  On  the 
second  day  after  his  recognition 
of  Eva,  he  had  held  that  conver- 
sation with  Fakredeen  which  had 
determined  the  young  Emir  not 
to  lose  a  moment  in  making  the 
effort  to  induce  Amaiek  to  forego  his  ransom,  the  re- 
sult of  which  he  had  communicated  to  Eva  on  their 
subsequent  interview.  On  the  third  day,  Tancred  rose 
from  his  couch,  and  would  even  have  quitted  the 
tent,  had  not  Baroni  dissuaded  him.  He  was  the 
more  induced  to  do  so,  for  on  this  day  he  missed 
his  amusing  companion,  the  Emir.  It  appeared  from 
the  account  of  Baroni,  that  his  highness  had  departed 
at  dawn,  on  his  dromedary,  and  without  an  attendant. 
According  to  Baroni,  nothing  was  yet  settled  either 
as  to  the  ransom  or  the  release  of  Tancred.  It  seemed 
that  the  great  Sheikh  had  been  impatient  to  return  to 
his  chief  encampment,  and  nothing  but  the  illness  of 
Tancred  would  probably  have  induced  him  to  remain 
in  the  Stony  Arabia  as  long  as  he  had  done.  The 
Lady  Eva  had  not,  since  her  arrival  at  the  ruined  city, 
encouraged  Baroni  in  any  communication  on  the  sub- 
(172) 


TANCRED  173 

ject  which  heretofore  during  their  journey  had  en- 
tirely occupied  her  consideration,  from  which  he 
inferred  that  she  had  nothing  very  satisfactory  to  re- 
late; yet  he  was  not  without  hope,  as  he  felt  assured 
that  Eva  would  not  have  remained  a  day  were  she 
convinced  that  there  was  no  chance  of  effecting  her 
original  purpose.  The  comparative  contentment  of 
the  great  Sheikh  at  this  moment,  her  silence,  and  the 
sudden  departure  of  Fakredeen,  induced  Baroni  to  be- 
lieve that  there  was  yet  something  on  the  cards,  and, 
being  of  a  sanguine  disposition,  he  sincerely  encour- 
aged his  master,  who,  however,  did  not  appear  to  be 
very  desponding. 

'The  Emir  told  me  yesterday  that  he  was  certain 
to  arrange  everything,'  said  Tancred,  'without  in  any 
way  compromising  us.  We  cannot  expect  such  an 
adventure  to  end  like  a  day  of  hunting.  Some  camels 
must  be  given,  and,  perhaps,  something  else.  I  am 
sure  the  Emir  will  manage  it  all,  especially  with  the 
aid  and  counsel  of  that  beauteous  Lady  of  Bethany,  in 
whose  wisdom  and  goodness  I  have  implicit  faith.' 

'I  have  more  faith  in  her  than  in  the  Emir,'  said 
Baroni.  'I  never  know  what  these  Shehaabs  are  after. 
Now,  he  has  not  gone  to  El  Khuds  this  morning;  of 
that  I  am  sure.' 

*I  am  under  the  greatest  obligations  to  the  Emir 
Fakredeen,'  said  Tancred,  'and  independently  of  such 
circumstances,  I  very  much  like  him.' 

'I  know  nothing  against  the  noble  Emir,'  said 
Baroni,  'and  I  am  sure  he  has  been  extremely  polite 
and  attentive  to  your  lordship;  but  still  those  She- 
haabs, they  are   such   a  set,  always  after  something!' 

'He  is  ardent  and  ambitious,'  said  Tancred,  'and 
he  is  young.     Are  these  faults.?      Besides,  he  has  not 


174  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

had  the  advantage  of  our  stricter  training.  He  has 
been  without  guides;  and  is  somewhat  undisciplined, 
and  self-formed.  But  he  has  a  great  and  interesting 
position,  and  is  brilliant  and  energetic.  Providence 
may  have  appointed  him  to  fulfil  great  ends.' 

'A  Shehaab  will  look  after  the  main  chance,'  said 
Baroni. 

'But  his  main  chance  may  be  the  salvation  of  his 
country,'  said  Tancred. 

'Nothing  can  save  his  country,'  said  Baroni.  'The 
Syrians  were  ever  slaves.' 

'I  do  not  call  them  slaves  now,'  said  Tancred; 
'why,  they  are  armed  and  are  warlike!  All  that  they 
want  is  a  cause.' 

'And  that  they  never  will  have,'  said  Baroni. 

'Why?' 

'The  East  is  used  up.' 

'  It  is  not  more  used  up  than  when  Mahomet 
arose,'  said  Tancred.  'Weak  and  withering  as  may 
be  the  government  of  the  Turks,  it  is  not  more  feeble 
and  enervated  than  that  of  the  Greek  empire  and  the 
Chosroes.' 

'I  don't  know  anything  about  them,'  replied  Ba- 
roni; 'but  I  know  there  is  nothing  to  be  done  with 
the  people  here.  I  have  seen  something  of  them,' 
said  Baroni.  'M.  de  Sidonia  tried  to  do  something 
in  '39,  and,  if  there   had  been  a  spark  of  spirit  or  of 

sense  in  Syria,  that  was  the  time,  but '  and  here 

Baroni  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

'But  what  was  your  principle  of  action  in  '39?' 
inquired  Tancred,  evidently  interested. 

'The  only  principle  of  action  in  this  world,'  said 
Baroni;  'we  had  plenty  of  money;  we  might  have 
had  three  millions.' 


TANCRED  175 

'And  if  you  had  had  six,  or  sixteen,  your  efforts 
would  have  been  equally  fruitless.  I  do  not  believe  in 
national  regeneration  in  the  shape  of  a  foreign  loan. 
Look  at  Greece!  And  yet  a  man  might  dimb  Mount 
Carmel,  and  utter  three  words  which  would  bring  the 
Arabs  again  to  Grenada,  and  perhaps  further.' 

'They  have  no  artillery,'  said  Baroni. 

'And  the  Turks  have  artillery  and  cannot  use  it,' 
said  Lord  Montacute.  '  Why,  the  most  favoured  part 
of  the  globe  at  this  moment  is  entirely  defenceless; 
there  is  not  a  soldier  worth  firing  at  in  Asia  except 
the  Sepoys.  The  Persian,  Assyrian,  and  Babylonian 
monarchies  might  be  gained  in  a  morning  with  faith 
and  the  flourish  of  a  sabre.' 

'You  would  have  the  Great  Powers  interfering,' 
said  Baroni. 

'  What  should  I  care  for  the  Great  Powers,  if  the 
Lord  of  Hosts  were  on  my  side!' 

'Why,  to  be  sure  they  could  not  do  much  at  Bag- 
dad or  Ispahan.' 

'Work  out  a  great  religious  truth  on  the  Persian 
and  Mesopotamian  plains,  the  most  exuberant  soils  in 
the  world  with  the  scantiest  population, —  it  would  re- 
vivify Asia.  It  must  spread.  The  peninsula  of  Ara- 
bia, when  in  action,  must  always  command  the 
peninsula  of  the  Lesser  Asia.  Asia  revivified  would 
act  upon  Europe.  The  European  comfort,  which  they 
call  civilisation,  is,  after  all,  confined  to  a  very  small 
space:  the  island  of  Great  Britain,  France,  and  the 
course  of  a  single  river,  the  Rhine,  The  greater  part 
of  Europe  is  as  dead  as  Asia,  without  the  consolation 
of  climate  and  the  influence  of  immortal  traditions.' 

'I  just  found  time,  my  lord,  when  I  was  at  Jeru- 
salem, to  call   in  at  the  Consulate,  and  see  the  Colo- 


176  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

nel,'  said  Baroni;  'I  thought  it  as  well  to  explain  the 
affair  a  little  to  him.  I  found  that  even  the  rumour 
of  our  mischance  had  not  reached  him;  so  I  said 
enough  to  prevent  any  alarm  when  it  arrived;  he  will 
believe  that  we  furnished  him  with  the  priority  of  in- 
telligence, and  he  expects  your  daily  return.' 

'You  did  well  to  call;  we  know  not  what  may 
happen.  I  doubt,  however,  whether  I  shall  return  to 
Jerusalem.  If  affairs  are  pleasantly  arranged  here,  I 
think  of  visiting  the  Emir,  at  his  castle  of  Canobia. 
A  change  of  air  must  be  the  best  thing  for  me,  and 
Lebanon,  by  his  account,  is  delicious  at  this  season. 
Indeed,  I  want  air,  and  I  must  go  out  now,  Baroni; 
I  cannot  stay  in  this  close  tent  any  longer;  the  sun 
has  set,  and  there  is  no  longer  any  fear  of  those  fatal 
heats  of  which  you  are  in  such  dread  for  me.' 

It  was  the  first  night  of  the  new  moon,  and  the 
white  beams  of  the  young  crescent  were  just  begin- 
ning to  steal  over  the  lately  flushed  and  empurpled 
scene.  The  air  was  still  glowing,  and  the  evening 
breeze,  which  sometimes  wandered  through  the  ra- 
vines from  the  gulf  of  Akabah,  had  not  yet  arrived. 
Tancred,  shrouded  in  his  Bedouin  cloak,  and  ac- 
companied by  Baroni,  visited  the  circle  of  black  tents, 
which  they  found  almost  empty,  the  whole  band, 
with  the  exception  of  the  scouts,  who  are  always  on 
duty  in  an  Arab  encampment,  being  assembled  in  the 
ruins  of  the  amphitheatre,  in  whose  arena,  opposite 
to  the  pavilion  of  the  great  Sheikh,  a  celebrated  poet 
was  reciting  the  visit  of  Antar  to  the  temple  of  the 
fire-worshippers,  and  the  adventures  of  that  greatest 
of  Arabian  heroes  among  the  effeminate  and  aston- 
ished courtiers  of  the  generous  and  magnificent  Nu- 
shirvan. 


TANCRED  177 

The  audience  was  not  a  scanty  one,  for  this  chosen 
detachment  of  the  children  of  Rechab  had  been  two 
hundred  strong,  and  the  great  majority  of  them  were 
now  assembled;  some  seated  as  the  ancient  Idumaeans, 
on  the  still  entire  seats  of  the  amphitheatre;  most 
squatted  in  groups  upon  the  ground,  though  at  a  re- 
spectful distance  from  the  poet;  others  standing  amid 
the  crumbling  pile  and  leaning  against  the  tall  dark 
fragments  just  beginning  to  be  silvered  by  the  moon- 
beam; but  in  all  their  countenances,  their  quivering 
features,  their  flashing  eyes,  the  mouth  open  with 
absorbing  suspense,  were  expressed  a  wild  and  vivid 
excitement,  the  heat  of  sympathy,  and  a  ravishing  de- 
light. 

When  Antar,  in  the  tournament,  overthrew  the 
famous  Greek  knight,  who  had  travelled  from  Constan- 
tinople to  beard  the  court  of  Persia;  when  he  caught 
in  his  hand  the  assassin  spear  of  the  Persian  satrap, 
envious  of  his  Arabian  chivalry,  and  returned  it  to  his 
adversary's  heart;  when  he  shouted  from  his  saddle 
that  he  was  the  lover  of  Ibla  and  the  horseman  of  the 
age,  the  audience  exclaimed  with  rapturous  earnest- 
ness, 'It  is  true,  it  is  true!'  although  they  were  guar- 
anteeing the  assertions  of  a  hero  who  lived,  and  loved, 
and  fought  more  than  fourteen  hundred  years  before. 
Antar  is  the  Iliad  of  the  desert;  the  hero  is  the  pas- 
sion of  the  Bedouins.  They  will  listen  for  ever  to 
his  forays,  when  he  raised  the  triumphant  cry  of  his 
tribe,  'Oh!  by  Abs;  oh!  by  Adnan,'  to  the  narratives 
of  the  camels  he  captured,  the  men  he  slew,  and  the 
maidens  to  whose  charms  he  was  indifferent,  for  he 
was  'ever  the  lover  of  Ibla.'  What  makes  this  great 
Arabian  invention  still  more  interesting  is,  that  it  was 
composed  at  a    period   antecedent   to    the    Prophet;  it 


178  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

describes  the  desert  before  the  Koran;  and  it  teaches 
us  how  little  the  dwellers  in  it  were  changed  by  the 
introduction  and  adoption  of  Islamism. 

As  Tancred  and  his  companion  reached  the  amphi- 
theatre, a  ringing  laugh  resounded. 

'Antar  is  dining  with  the  King  of  Persia  after  his 
victory,'  said  Baroni;  'this  is  a  favourite  scene  with 
the  Arabs.  Antar  asks  the  courtiers  the  name  of  every 
dish,  and  whether  the  king  dines  so  every  day.  He 
bares  his  arms,  and  chucks  the  food  into  his  mouth 
without  ever  moving  his  jaws.  They  have  heard  this 
all  their  lives,  but  always  laugh  at  it  with  the  same 
heartiness.  Why,  Shedad,  son  of  Amroo,'  continued 
Baroni  to  an  Arab  near  him,  'you  have  listened  to 
this  ever  since  you  first  tasted  liban,  and  it  still  pleases 
you! ' 

'  I  am  never  wearied  with  listening  to  fine  lan- 
guage,' said  the  Bedouin;  'perfumes  are  always  sweet, 
though  you  may  have  smelt  them  a   thousand  times.' 

Except  when  there  was  some  expression  of  feeling 
elicited  by  the  performance,  a  shout  or  a  laugh,  the 
silence  was  absolute.  Not  a  whisper  could  be  heard; 
and  it  was  in  a  muffled  tone  that  Baroni  intimated  to 
Tancred  that  the  great  Sheikh  was  present,  and  that, 
as  this  was  his  first  appearance  since  his  illness,  he 
must  pay  his  respects  to  Amalek.  So  saying,  and 
preceding  Tancred,  in  order  that  he  might  announce 
his  arrival,  Baroni  approached  the  pavilion.  The  great 
Sheikh  welcomed  Tancred  with  a  benignant  smile, 
motioned  to  him  to  sit  upon  his  carpet;  rejoiced  that 
he  was  recovered;  hoped  that  he  should  live  a  thou- 
sand years;  gave  him  his  pipe,  and  then,  turning  again 
to  the  poet,  was  instantly  lost  in  the  interest  of  his 
narrative.      Baroni,  standing  as   near   Tancred  as  the 


TANCRED  179 

carpet  would  permit  him,  occasionally  leant  over  and 
gave  his  lord  an  intimation  of  what  was  occurring. 

After  a  little  while,  the  poet  ceased.  Then  there 
was  a  general  hum  and  great  praise,  and  many  men 
said  to  each  other,  'All  this  is  true,  for  my  father 
told  it  to  me  before.'  The  great  Sheikh,  who  was 
highly  pleased,  ordered  his  slaves  to  give  the  poet  a 
cup  of  coffee,  and,  taking  from  his  own  vest  an  im- 
mense purse,  more  than  a  foot  in  length,  he  extracted 
from  it,  after  a  vast  deal  of  research,  one  of  the  small- 
est of  conceivable  coins,  which  the  poet  pressed  to 
his  lips,  and,  notwithstanding  the  exiguity  of  the 
donation,  declared  that  God  was  great. 

'O  Sheikh  of  Sheikhs,'  said  the  poet,  'what  I 
have  recited,  though  it  is  by  the  gift  of  God,  is  in 
fact  written,  and  has  been  ever  since  the  days  of  the 
giants;  but  1  have  also  dipped  my  pen  into  my  own 
brain,  and  now  I  would  recite  a  poem  which  I  hope 
some  day  may  be  suspended  in  the  temple  of  Mecca. 
It  is  in  honour  of  one  who,  were  she  to  rise  to  our 
sight,  would  be  as  the  full  moon  when  it  rises  over 
the  desert.  Yes,  I  sing  of  Eva,  the  daughter  of 
Amalek  (the  Bedouins  always  omitted  Besso  in  her 
genealogy),  Eva,  the  daughter  of  a  thousand  chiefs. 
May  she  never  quit  the  tents  of  her  race!  May  she 
always  ride  upon  Nejid  steeds  and  dromedaries,  with 
harness  of  silver!  May  she  live  among  us  for  ever! 
May  she  show  herself  to  the  people  like  a  free  Ara- 
bian maiden!' 

'They  are  the  thoughts  of  truth,'  said  the  de- 
lighted Bedouins  to  one  another;  'every  word  is  a 
pearl.' 

And  the  great  Sheikh  sent  a  slave  to  express  his 
wish    that  Eva  and    her    maidens   should   appear.     So 


i8o  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

she  came  to  listen  to  the  ode  which  the  poet  had 
composed  in  her  honour.  He  had  seen  palm  trees, 
but  they  were  not  as  tall  and  graceful  as  Eva;  he  had 
beheld  the  eyes  of  doves  and  antelopes,  but  they 
were  not  as  bright  and  soft  as  hers;  he  had  tasted 
the  fresh  springs  in  the  wilderness,  but  they  were  not 
more  welcome  than  she;  and  the  soft  splendour  of 
the  desert  moon  was  not  equal  to  her  brow.  She 
was  the  daughter  of  Amalek,  the  daughter  of  a  thou- 
sand chiefs.  Might  she  live  for  ever  in  their  tents; 
ever  ride  on  Nejid  steeds  and  on  dromedaries  with 
silver  harness;  ever  show  herself  to  the  people  like  a 
free  Arabian  maiden! 

The  poet,  after  many  variations  on  this  theme, 
ceased  amid  great  plaudits. 

'He  is  a  true  poet,'  said  an  Arab,  who  was,  like 
most  of  his  brethren,  a  critic;  *  he  is  in  truth  a  second 
Antar.' 

'  If  he  had  recited  these  verses  before  the  King  of 
Persia,  he  would  have  given  him  a  thousand  camels,' 
replied  his  neighbour,  gravely. 

'They  ought  to  be  suspended  in  the  temple  of 
Mecca,'  said  a  third. 

'What  I  most  admire  is  his  image  of  the  full 
moon;  that  cannot  be  too  often  introduced,'  said  a 
fourth. 

'Truly  the  moon  should  ever  shine,'  said  a  fifth. 
'Also  in  all  truly  fine  verses  there  should  be  palm 
trees  and  fresh  springs.' 

Tancred,  to  whom  Baroni  had  conveyed  the  mean- 
ing of  the  verses,  was  also  pleased;  having  observed 
that,  on  a  previous  occasion,  the  great  Sheikh  had  re- 
warded the  bard,  Tancred  ventured  to  take  a  chain, 
which  he  fortunately  chanced  to  wear,  from  his  neck, 


TANCRED  i8i 

and  sent  it  to  the  poet  of  Eva,  This  made  a  great 
sensation,  and  highly  dehghted  the  Arabs. 

'Truly  this  is  the  brother  of  queens,'  they  whis- 
pered to  each  other. 

Now  the  audience  was  breaking  up  and  dispersing, 
and  Tancred,  rising,  begged  permission  of  his  host  to 
approach  Eva,  who  was  seated  at  the  entrance  of  the 
pavilion,  somewhat  withdrawn  from  them. 

'If  I  were  a  poet,'  said  Tancred,  bending  before 
her,  '  I  would  attempt  to  express  my  gratitude  to 
the  Lady  of  Bethany.  I  hope,'  he  added,  after  a 
moment's  pause,  '  that  Baroni  laid  my  message  at 
your  feet.  When  I  begged  your  permission  to  thank 
you  in  person  to-morrow,  I  had  not  imagined  that 
I  should  have  been  so  wilful  as  to  quit  the  tent  to- 
night.' 

'It  will  not  harm  you,'  said  Eva;  'our  Arabian 
nights  bear  balm.' 

'I  feel  it,'  said  Tancred;  'this  evening  will  com- 
plete the  cure  you  so  benignantly  commenced.' 

'Mine  were  slender  knowledge  and  simple  means,' 
said  Eva;  'but  I  rejoice  that  they  were  of  use,  more 
especially  as  I  learn  that  we  are  all  interested  in  your 
pilgrimage. 

'The  Emir  Fakredeen  has  spoken  to  you?'  said 
Tancred,  inquiringly,  and  with  a  countenance  a  little 
agitated. 

'  He  has  spoken  to  me  of  some  things  for  which 
our  previous  conversation  had  not  entirely  unprepared 
me.' 

'Ah!'  said  Tancred,  musingly,  'our  previous  con- 
versation. It  is  not  very  long  ago  since  I  slumbered 
by  the  side  of  your  fountain,  and  yet  it  seems  to  me 
an  age,  an  age  of  thought  and  events.' 


i82  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'Yet  even  then  your  heart  was  turned  towards 
our  unhappy  Asia,'  said  the  Lady  of  Bethany. 

'Unhappy  Asia!  Do  you  call  it  unhappy  Asia! 
This  land  of  divine  deeds  and  divine  thoughts!  Its 
slumber  is  more  vital  than  the  waking  life  of  the  rest 
of  the  globe,  as  the  dream  of  genius  is  more  precious 
than  the  vigils  of  ordinary  men.  Unhappy  Asia,  do 
you  call  it.?  It  is  the  unhappiness  of  Europe  over 
which  I  mourn.' 

'Europe,  that  has  conquered  Hindostan,  protects 
Persia  and  Asia  Minor,  affects  to  have  saved  Syria,' 
said  Eva,  with  some  bitterness.  'Oh!  what  can  we 
do  against  Europe  ? ' 

'Save  it,'  said  Tancred. 

'We  cannot  save  ourselves;  what  means  have  we 
to  save  others  ?  ' 

'The  same  you  have  ever  exercised,  Divine  Truth. 
Send  forth  a  great  thought,  as  you  have  done  before, 
from  Mount  Sinai,  from  the  villages  of  Galilee,  from 
the  deserts  of  Arabia,  and  you  may  again  remodel  all 
their  institutions,  change  their  principles  of  action, 
and  breathe  a  new  spirit  into  the  whole  scope  of 
their  existence.' 

'  I  have  sometimes  dreamed  such  dreams,'  mur- 
mured Eva,  looking  down.  '  No,  no,'  she  exclaimed, 
raising  her  head,  after  a  moment's  pause,  'it  is  im- 
possible. Europe  is  too  proud,  with  its  new  command 
over  nature,  to  listen  even  to  prophets.  Levelling 
mountains,  riding  without  horses,  sailing  without 
winds,  how  can  these  men  believe  that  there  is  any 
power,  human  or  divine,  superior  to  themselves?' 

'As  for  their  command  over  nature,'  said  Tancred, 
'let  us  see  how  it  will  operate  in  a  second  deluge. 
Command  over  nature!     Why,  the  humblest  root  that 


TANCRED  183 

serves  for  the  food  of  man  has  mysteriously  withered 
throughout  Europe,  and  they  are  already  pale  at  the 
possible  consequences.  This  slight  eccentricity  of 
that  nature  which  they  boast  they  can  command  has 
already  shaken  empires,  and  may  decide  the  fate  of 
nations.  No,  gentle  lady,  Europe  is  not  happy.  Amid 
its  false  excitement,  its  bustling  invention,  and  its 
endless  toil,  a  profound  melancholy  broods  over  its 
spirit  and  gnaws  at  its  heart.  In  vain  they  baptise 
their  tumult  by  the  name  of  progress;  the  whisper  of 
a  demon  is  ever  asking  them,  "Progress,  from  whence 
and  to  what?"  Excepting  those  who  still  cling  to 
your  Arabian  creeds,  Europe,  that  quarter  of  the  globe 
to  which  God  has  never  spoken,  Europe  is  without 
consolation.' 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 


Freedom. 

HREE  or  four  days  had  elapsed  since 
the  departure  of  Fakredeen,  and 
!i^  during  each  of  them  Tancred  saw 
Eva;  indeed,  his  hours  were  much 
passed  in  the  pavilion  of  the 
^  great  Sheikh,  and,  though  he  was 
never  alone  with  the  daughter  of  Besso,  the  language 
which  they  spoke,  unknown  to  those  about  them, 
permitted  them  to  confer  without  restraint  on  those 
subjects  in  which  they  were  interested.  Tancred 
opened  his  mind  without  reserve  to  Eva,  for  he  liked 
to  test  the  soundness  of  his  conclusions  by  her  clear 
intelligence.  Her  lofty  spirit  harmonised  with  his 
own  high-toned  soul.  He  found  both  sympathy  and 
inspiration  in  her  heroic  purposes.  Her  passionate 
love  of  her  race,  her  deep  faith  in  the  destiny  and 
genius  of  her  Asian  land,  greatly  interested  him.  To 
his  present  position  she  referred  occasionally,  but  with 
reluctance;  it  seemed  as  if  she  thought  it  unkind  en- 
tirely to  pass  it  over,  yet  that  to  be  reminded  of  it 
was  not  satisfactory.  Of  Fakredeen  she  spoke  much 
and  frequently.  She  expressed  with  frankness,  even 
with  warmth,  her  natural  and  deep  regard  for  him, 
(.84) 


TANCRED  185 

the  interest  she  took  in  his  career,  and  the  high 
opinion  she  entertained  of  his  powers;  but  she  la- 
mented his  inventive  restlessness,  which  often  arrested 
action,  and  intimated  how  much  he  might  profit  by 
the  counsels  of  a  friend  more  distinguished  for  con- 
sistency and  sternness  of  purpose. 

In  the  midst  of  all  this,  Fakredeen  returned.  He 
came  in  the  early  morning,  and  immediately  repaired 
to  the  pavilion  of  the  great  Sheikh,  with  whom  he 
was  long  closeted.  Baroni  first  brought  the  news  to 
Tancred,  and  subsequently  told  him  that  the  quantity 
of  nargilehs  smoked  by  the  young  Emir  indicated  not 
only  a  prolonged,  but  a  difficult,  controversy.  Some 
time  after  this,  Tancred,  lounging  in  front  of  his 
tent,  and  watching  the  shadows  as  they  stole  over 
the  mountain  tombs,  observed  Fakredeen  issue  from 
the  pavilion  of  Amalek.  His  flushed  and  radiant 
countenance  would  seem  to  indicate  good  news.  As 
he  recognised  Tancred,  he  saluted  him  in  the  Eastern 
fashion,  hastily  touching  his  heart,  his  lip,  and  his 
brow.  When  he  had  reached  Tancred,  Fakredeen 
threw  himself  in  his  arms,  and,  embracing  him, 
whispered  in  an  agitated  voice  on  the  breast  of  Lord 
Montacute,   'Friend  of  my  heart,  you  are  free!' 

In  the  meantime,  Amalek  announced  to  his  tribe 
that  at  sunset  the  encampment  would  break  up,  and 
they  would  commence  their  return  to  the  Syrian 
wilderness,  through  the  regions  eastward  of  the  Dead 
Sea.  The  Lady  Eva  would  accompany  them,  and  the 
children  of  Rechab  were  to  have  the  honour  of  escort- 
ing her  and  her  attendants  to  the  gates  of  Damascus. 
A  detachment  of  five-and-twenty  Beni-Rechab  were 
to  accompany  Fakredeen  and  Tancred,  Hassan  and 
his   Jellaheens,  in    a  contrary  direction  of   the   desert, 


1 86  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

until  they  arrived  at  Gaza,  where  they  were  to  await 
further  orders  from  the  young  Emir. 

No  sooner  was  this  intelligence  circulated  than 
the  silence  which  had  pervaded  the  desert  ruins  at 
once  ceased.  Men  came  out  of  every  tent  and  tomb. 
All  was  bustle  and  noise.  They  chattered,  they  sang, 
they  talked  to  their  horses,  they  apprised  their  camels 
of  the  intended  expedition.  They  declared  that  the 
camels  had  consented  to  go;  they  anticipated  a  pros- 
perous journey;  they  speculated  on  what  tribes  they 
might  encounter. 

It  required  all  the  consciousness  of  great  duties,  all 
the  inspiration  of  a  great  purpose,  to  sustain  Tancred 
under  this  sudden  separation  from  Eva.  Much  he  re- 
gretted that  it  was  not  also  his  lot  to  traverse  the 
Syrian  wilderness,  but  it  was  not  for  him  to  interfere 
with  arrangements  which  he  could  neither  control  nor 
comprehend.  All  that  passed  amid  the  ruins  of  this 
desert  city  was  as  incoherent  and  restless  as  the  in- 
cidents of  a  dream;  yet  not  without  the  bright  pas- 
sages of  strange  fascination  which  form  part  of  the 
mosaic  of  our  slumbering  reveries.  At  dawn  a  pris- 
oner, at  noon  a  free  man,  yet  still,  from  his  position, 
unable  to  move  without  succour,  and  without  guides; 
why  he  was  captured,  how  he  was  enfranchised, 
alike  mysteries;  Tancred  yielded  without  a  struggle  to 
the  management  of  that  individual  who  was  clearly 
master  of  the  situation.  Fakredeen  decided  upon 
everything,  and  no  one  was  inclined  to  impugn  the 
decrees  of  him  whose  rule  commenced  by  conferring 
freedom. 

It  was  only  half  an  hour  to  sunset.  The  advanced 
guard  of  the  children  of  Rechab,  mounted  on  their 
dromedaries,  and  armed  with  lances,  had  some  hours 


TANCRED  187 

ago  quitted  the  ruins.  The  camels,  laden  with  the 
tents  and  baggage,  attended  by  a  large  body  of  foot- 
men with  matchlocks,  and  who,  on  occasion,  could 
add  their  own  weight  to  the  burden  of  their  charge, 
were  filing  through  the  mountains;  some  horsemen 
were  galloping  about  the  plain  and  throwing  the 
jereed;  a  considerable  body,  most  of  them  dismounted, 
but  prepared  for  the  seat,  were  collected  by  the  river 
side;  about  a  dozen  steeds  of  the  purest  race,  one  or 
two  of  them  caparisoned,  and  a  couple  of  dromeda- 
ries, were  picketed  before  the  pavilion  of  the  great 
Sheikh,  which  was  not  yet  struck,  and  about  which 
some  grooms  were  squatted,  drinking  coffee,  and  every 
now  and  then  turning  to  the  horses,  and  addressing 
them  in  tones  of  the  greatest  affection  and  respect. 

Suddenly  one  of  the  grooms  jumped  up  and  said, 
*He  comes;'  and  then  going  up  to  a  bright  bay 
mare,  whose  dark  prominent  eye  equalled  in  bril- 
liancy, and  far  exceeded  in  intelligence,  the  splendid 
orbs  of  the  antelope,  he  addressed  her,  and  said,  *0 
Diamond  of  Derayeh,  the  Princess  of  the  desert  can 
alone  ride  on  thee!' 

There  came  forth  from  his  pavilion  the  great 
Amalek,  accompanied  by  some  of  his  Sheikhs;  there 
came  forth  from  the  pavilion  Eva,  attended  by  her 
gigantic  Nubian  and  her  maidens;  there  came  forth 
from  the  pavilion  the  Emir  Fakredeen  and  Lord  Mon- 
tacute. 

'There  is  but  one  God,'  said  the  great  Sheikh  as 
he  pressed  his  hand  to  his  heart,  and  bade  farewell 
to  the  Emir  and  his  late  prisoner.  'May  he  guard 
over  us  all!' 

'Truly  there  is  but  one  God,'  echoed  the  attend- 
ant Sheikhs.     'May  you  find   many  springs!' 


i88  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

The  maidens  were  placed  on  their  dromedaries; 
the  grooms,  as  if  by  magic,  had  already  struck  the 
pavilion  of  their  Sheikh,  and  were  stowing  it  away 
on  the  back  of  a  camel;  Eva,  first  imprinting  on  the 
neck  of  the  mare  a  gentle  embrace,  vaulted  into  the 
seat  of  the  Diamond  of  Derayeh,  which  she  rode  in 
the  fashion  of  Zenobia.  To  Tancred,  with  her  in- 
spired brow,  her  cheek  slightly  flushed,  her  undu- 
lating figure,  her  eye  proud  of  its  dominion  over  the 
beautiful  animal  which  moved  its  head  with  haughty 
satisfaction  at  its  destiny,  Eva  seemed  the  impersona- 
tion of  some  young  classic  hero  going  forth  to  con- 
quer a  world. 

Striving  to  throw  into  her  countenance  and  the 
tones  of  her  voice  a  cheerfulness  which  was  really  at 
this  moment  strange  to  them,  she  said,  '  Farewell, 
Fakredeen!'  and  then,  after  a  moment's  hesitation, 
and  looking  at  Tancred  with  a  faltering  glance  which 
yet  m.ade  his  heart  tremble,  she  added,  '  Farewell, 
Pilgrim  of  Sinai.' 


CHAPTER   XL. 


The  Romantic  Story  of  Baroni. 

§  HE  Emir  of  the  Lebanon  and  his 
English  friend  did  not  depart  from 
the  desert  city  until  the  morrow, 
Fakredeen  being  so  wearied  by 
his  journey  that  he  required  repose. 
Unsustained  by  his  lively  conversa- 
tion, Tancred  felt  all  the  depression  natural  to  his  po- 
sition; and,  restless  and  disquieted,  wandered  about 
the  valley  in  the  moonlight,  recalling  the  vanished 
images  of  the  past.  After  some  time,  unable  himself 
to  sleep,  and  finding  Baroni  disinclined  to  slumber,  he 
reminded  his  attendant  of  the  promise  he  had  once 
given  at  Jerusalem,  to  tell  something  of  his  history. 
Baroni  was  a  lively  narrator,  and,  accompanied  by  his 
gestures,  his  speaking  glance,  and  all  the  pantomime 
of  his  energetic  and  yet  controlled  demeanour,  the 
narrative,  as  he  delivered  it,  would  have  been  doubt- 
less much  more  amusing  than  the  calmer  form  in 
which,  upon  reflection,  we  have  thought  fit  to  record 
some  incidents  which  the  reader  must  not  in  any 
degree  suppose  to  form  merely  an  episode  in  this 
history.     With  this  observation  we  solicit  attention  to 

(189) 


190  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

the  l)i$tory  of  tbe  Baroni  family* 

BEING   A   CHAPTER   IN   THE   LIFE   OF  SIDONIA. 
I. 

'I  had  no  idea  that  you  had  a  garrison  here,'  said 
Sidonia,  as  the  distant  sounds  of  martial  music  were 
wafted  down  a  long,  ancient  street,  that  seemed 
narrower  than  it  was  from  the  great  elevation  of  its 
fantastically-shaped  houses,  into  the  principal  square 
in  which  was  situate  his  hotel.  The  town  was  one 
of  the  least  frequented  of  Flanders;  and  Sidonia,  who 
was  then  a  youth,  scarcely  of  twenty  summers,  was 
on  his  rambling  way  to  Frankfort,  where  he  then  re- 
sided. 

'It  is  not  the  soldiers,'  said  the  Flemish  maiden  in 
attendance,  and  who  was  dressed  in  one  of  those 
pretty  black  silk  jackets  that  seem  to  blend  so  well 
with  the  sombre  yet  picturesque  dwellings  of  the 
Spanish  Netherlands.  'It  is  not  the  soldiers,  sir;  it  is 
only  the  Baroni  family.' 

'And  who  are  the  Baroni  family.?' 

'They  are  Italians,  sir,  and  have  been  here  this 
week  past,  giving  some  representations.' 

'Of  what  kind?' 

'  I  hardly  know,  sir,  only  I  have  heard  that  they 
are  very  beautiful.  There  is  tumbling,  I  know  for 
certain;  and  there  was  the  Plagues  of  Egypt;  but  1 
believe  it  changes  every  night.' 

'And  you  have  not  yet  seen  them?' 

'Oh  no,  sir,  it  is  not  for  such  as  me;  the  second 
places  are  half  a  franc!' 

'And  what  is  your  name?'  said  Sidonia. 


TANCRED  191 

'Therese;  at  your  service,  sir.' 

'You  shall  go  and  see  the  Baroni  family  to-night, 
Therese,  if  your  mistress  will  let  you.' 

'I  am  sure  she  would  if  you  would  ask  her,  sir,' 
said  Therese,  looking  down  and  colouring  with  de- 
light.    The  little  jacket  seemed  very  agitated. 

'Here  they  come!'  said  Sidonia,  looking  out  of 
the  window  on  the  great  square. 

A  man,  extremely  good-looking  and  well  made,  in 
the  uniform  of  a  marshal  of  France,  his  cocked  hat 
fringed  and  plumed,  and  the  colour  of  his  coat  almost 
concealed  by  its  embroidery,  played  a  clarionet  like  a 
master;  four  youths  of  a  tender  age,  remarkable  both 
for  their  beauty  and  their  grace,  dressed  in  very  hand- 
some scarlet  uniforms,  with  white  scarfs,  performed 
upon  French  horns  and  similar  instruments  with  great 
energy  and  apparent  delight;  behind  them  an  hon- 
est Blouse,  hired  for  the  occasion,  beat  the  double 
drum. 

'Two  of  them  are  girls,'  said  Therese;  'and  they 
are  all  the  same  family,  except  the  drummer,  who  be- 
longs, I  hear,  to  Ypres.  Sometimes  there  are  six  of 
them,  two  little  ones,  who,  I  suppose,  are  left  at 
home  to-day;  they  look  quite  like  httle  angels;  the 
boy  plays  the  triangle  and  his  sister  beats  a  tambou- 
rine.' 

'They  are  great  artists,'  murmured  Sidonia  to 
himself,  as  he  listened  to  their  performance  of  one  of 
Donizetti's  finest  compositions.  The  father  stood  in 
the  centre  of  the  great  square,  the  other  musicians 
formed  a  circle  round  him;  they  continued  their  per- 
formance for  about  ten  minutes  to  a  considerable 
audience,  many  of  whom  had  followed  them,  while 
the  rest  had  collected  at  their  appearance.     There  was 


192  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

an  inclination  in  tlie  curious  multitude  to  press  around 
the  young  performers,  who  would  have  been  in  a 
great  degree  hidden  from  general  view  by  this  dis- 
courteous movement,  and  even  the  sound  of  their  in- 
struments in  some  measure  suppressed,  Sidonia 
marked  with  interest  the  calm  and  commanding 
manner  with  which,  under  these  circumstances,  the 
father  controlled  the  people.  They  yielded  in  an  in- 
stant to  his  will:  one  tall  blacksmith  seemed  scarcely 
to  relish  his  somewhat  imperious  demeanour,  and 
stood  rooted  to  the  ground;  but  Baroni,  placing  only 
one  hand  on  the  curmudgeon's  brawny  shoulder, 
while  he  still  continued  playing  on  his  instrument 
with  the  other,  whirled  him  away  hke  a  puppet. 
The  multitude  laughed,  and  the  disconcerted  black- 
smith slunk  away. 

When  the  air  was  finished,  Baroni  took  off  his 
grand  hat,  and  in  a  loud  voice  addressed  the  assem- 
bled people,  informing  them  that  this  evening,  in  the 
largest  room  of  the  Auberge  of  St.  Nicholas,  there 
would  be  a  variety  of  entertainments,  consisting  of 
masterpieces  of  strength  and  agility,  dramatic  recita- 
tions, dancing  and  singing,  to  conclude  with  the  mys- 
tery of  the  Crucifixion  of  our  blessed  Lord  and  Saviour; 
in  which  all  the  actors  in  that  memorable  event,  among 
others  the  blessed  Virgin,  the  blessed  St.  Mary  Mag- 
dalene, the  Apostles,  Pontius  Pilate,  the  High  Priest  of 
the  Jews,  and  many  others,  would  appear,  all  to  be 
represented  by  one  family. 

The  speaker  having  covered  himself,  the  band 
again  formed  and  passed  the  window  of  Sidonia's 
hotel,  followed  by  a  stream  of  idle  amateurs,  animated 
by  the  martial  strain,  and  attracted  by  the  pleasure  of 
hearing  another  fine    performance  at   the    next  quarter 


TANCRED  193 

of  the  town,  where  the  Baroni  family  might  halt  to 
announce  the  impending   amusements  of  the  evening. 

The  moon  was  beginning  to  glitter,  when  Sidonia 
threw  his  cloak  around  him,  and  asked  the  way  to 
the  Auberge  of  St.  Nicholas.  It  was  a  large,  un- 
gainly, whitewashed  house,  at  the  extremity  of  a 
suburb  where  the  straggling  street  nearly  ceased,  and 
emptied  itself  into  what  in  England  would  have  been 
called  a  green.  The  many  windows  flared  with 
lights,  the  doorway  was  filled  with  men  smoking, 
and  looking  full  of  importance,  as  if,  instead  of  being 
the  usual  loungers  of  the  tavern,  they  were  about  to 
perform  a  principal  part  in  the  exhibition;  they  made 
way  with  respectful  and  encouraging  ceremony  to  any 
one  who  entered  to  form  part  of  the  audience,  and 
rated  with  sharp  words,  and  sometimes  a  ready  cuff, 
a  mob  of  little  boys  who  besieged  the  door,  and  im- 
plored every  one  who  entered  to  give  them  tickets 
to  see  the  Crucifixion.  'It's  the  last  piece,'  they  per- 
petually exclaimed,  *  and  we  may  come  in  for  five 
sous  a  head.' 

Sidonia  mounted  the  staircase,  and,  being  a  suitor 
for  a  ticket  for  the  principal  seats,  was  received  with 
a  most  gracious  smile  by  a  pretty  woman,  fair-faced 
and  arch,  with  a  piquant  nose  and  a  laughing  blue 
eye,  who  sat  at  the  door  of  the  room.  It  was  a  long 
and  rather  narrow  apartment;  at  the  end,  a  stage  of 
rough  planks,  before  a  kind  of  curtain,  the  whole 
rudely  but  not  niggardly  lighted.  Unfortunately  for 
the  Baroni  family,  Sidonia  found  himself  the  only  first- 
class  spectator.  There  was  a  tolerable  sprinkling  of 
those  who  paid  half  a  franc  for  their  amusement. 
These  were  separated  from  the  first  row,  which 
Sidonia  alone  was  to  occupy;  in  the  extreme  distance 


194  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

was  a  large  space  not  fitted  up  with  benches,  where 
the  miscellaneous  multitude,  who  could  summon  up 
five  sous  apiece  later  in  the  evening,  to  see  the 
Crucifixion,  were  to  be  stowed. 

'It  hardly  pays  the  lights,'  said  the  pretty  woman 
at  the  door.  'We  have  not  had  good  fortune  in  this 
town.  It  seems  hard,  when  there  is  so  much  for  the 
money,  and  the  children  take  such  pains  in  going  the 
rounds  in  the  morning.' 

'  And  you  are  Madame  Baroni  ? '  said  Sidonia. 

'Yes;  1  am  the  mother,'  she  replied. 

'I  should  have  thought  you  had  been  their  sister,' 
said  Sidonia. 

'My  eldest  son  is  fifteen!  I  often  wish  that  he 
was  anything  else  but  what  he  is,  but  we  do  not 
like  to  separate.  We  are  all  one  family,  sir,  and  that 
makes  us  bear  many  things.' 

'  Well,  I  think  I  know  a  way  to  increase  your 
audience,'  said  Sidonia. 

'Indeed!  1  am  sure  it  is  very  kind  of  you  to  say 
so  much;  we  have  not  met  with  a  gentleman  like 
you  the  whole  time  we  have  been  here.' 

Sidonia  descended  the  stairs;  the  smoking  amateurs 
made  way  for  him  with  great  parade,  and  pushed 
back  with  equal  unkindness  the  young  and  wistful 
throng  who  still  hovered  round  the  portal, 

'Don't  you  see  the  gentleman  wants  to  go  by? 
Get  back,  you  boys!' 

Sidonia  halted  on  the  doorway,  and,  taking  ad- 
vantage of  a  momentary  pause,  said,  '  All  the  little 
boys  are  to  come  in  free.' 

What  a  rush! 

The  performances  commenced  by  the  whole  of  the 
Baroni  family  appearing  in  a  row,  and  bowing  to  the 


TANCRED  195 

audience.  The  father  was  now  dressed  in  a  Greek 
costume,  which  exhibited  to  perfection  his  compact 
frame:  he  looked  hke  the  captain  of  a  band  of  Pah- 
kari;  on  his  left  appeared  the  mother,  who,  having 
thrown  off  her  cloak,  seemed  a  sylph  or  a  sultana, 
for  her  bonnet  had  been  succeeded  by  a  turban.  The 
three  girls  were  on  her  left  hand,  and  on  the  right 
of  her  husband  were  their  three  brothers.  The  eldest 
son,  Francis,  resembled  his  father,  or  rather  was  what 
his  father  must  have  been  in  all  the  freshness  of  boy- 
hood; the  same  form  of  blended  strength  and  symme- 
try; the  same  dark  eye,  the  same  determined  air  and 
regular  features  which  in  time  would  become  strongly 
marked.  The  second  boy,  Alfred,  about  eleven,  was 
delicate,  fair,  and  fragile,  like  his  mother;  his  sweet 
countenance,  full  of  tenderness,  changed  before  the 
audience  with  a  rapid  emotion.  The  youngest  son, 
Michel,  was  an  infant  of  four  years,  and  with  his 
large  blue  eyes  and  long  golden  hair,  might  have 
figured  as  one  of  the  seraphs  of  Murillo. 

There  was  analogy  in  the  respective  physical  ap- 
pearances of  the  brothers  and  the  sisters.  The  eldest 
girl,  Josephine,  though  she  had  only  counted  twelve 
summers,  was  in  stature,  and  almost  in  form,  a 
woman.  She  was  strikingly  handsome,  very  slender, 
and  dark  as  night.  Adelaide,  in  colour,  in  look,  in 
the  grace  of  every  gesture,  and  in  the  gushing  tender- 
ness of  her  wild,  yet  shrinking  glance,  seemed  the 
twin  of  Alfred.  The  little  Carlotta,  more  than  two 
years  older  than  Michel,  was  the  miniature  of  her 
mother,  and  had  a  piquant  coquettish  air,  mixed  with 
an  expression  of  repose  in  one  so  young  quite  droll, 
like  a  little  opera  dancer.  The  father  clapped  his 
hands,  and  all,  except   himself,  turned   round,  bowed 


196  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

to  the  audience,  and  retired,  leaving  Baroni  and  his 
two  elder  children.  Then  commenced  a  variety  of 
feats  of  strength.  Baroni  stretched  forth  his  right  arm, 
and  Josephine,  with  a  bound,  instantly  sprang  upon 
his  shoulder;  while  she  thus  remained,  balancing  her- 
self only  on  her  left  leg,  and  looking  like  a  flying 
Victory,  her  father  stretched  forth  his  left  arm,  and 
Francis  sprang  upon  the  shoulder  opposite  to  his  sis- 
ter, and  formed  with  her  a  group  which  might  have 
crowned  a  vase.  Infinite  were  the  postures  into 
which,  for  more  than  half  an  hour,  the  brother  and 
sister  threw  their  flexible  forms,  and  all  alike  distin- 
guished for  their  agility,  their  grace,  and  their  preci- 
sion. At  length,  all  the  children,  with  the  exception 
of  Carlotta,  glided  from  behind  the  curtain,  and  clus- 
tered around  their  father  with  a  quickness  which 
baffled  observation.  Alfred  and  Adelaide  suddenly  ap- 
peared, mounted  upon  Josephine  and  Francis,  who 
had  already  resumed  their  former  positions  on  the 
shoulders  of  their  father,  and  stood  immovable  with 
outstretched  arms,  while  their  brother  and  sister  bal- 
anced themselves  above.  This  being  arranged,  Baroni 
caught  up  the  young  Michel,  and,  as  it  were,  flung 
him  up  on  high;  Josephine  received  the  urchin,  and 
tossed  him  up  to  Adelaide,  and  in  a  moment  the 
beautiful  child  was  crowning  the  living  pyramid,  his 
smiling  face  nearly  touching  the  rough  ceiling  of  the 
chamber,  and  clapping  his  little  hands  with  practised 
triumph,  as  Baroni  walked  about  the  stage  with  the 
breathing  burden. 

He  stopped,  and  the  children  disappeared  from  his 
shoulders,  like  birds  from  a  tree  when  they  hear  a 
sound.  He  clapped  his  hands,  they  turned  round, 
bowed,   and  vanished. 


TANCRED  197 

*As  this  feat  pleases  you,'  said  the  father,  'and  as 
we  have  a  gentleman  here  to-night  who  has  proved 
himself  a  liberal  patron  of  artists,  I  will  show  you 
something  that  I  rarely  exhibit;  I  will  hold  the  whole 
of  the  Baroni  family  with  my  two  hands;'  and  here- 
upon addressing  some  stout-looking  fellows  among 
his  audience,  he  begged  them  to  come  forward  and 
hold  each  end  of  a  plank  that  was  leaning  against  the 
wall,  one  which  had  not  been  required  for  the  quickly- 
constructed  stage.  This  they  did  with  some  diffidence, 
and  with  that  air  of  constraint  characteristic  of  those 
who  have  been  summoned  from  a  crowd  to  perform 
something  which  they  do  not  exactly  comprehend. 

'Be  not  afraid,  my  good  friends,'  said  Baroni  to 
them,  as  Francis  lightly  sprang  on  one  end  of  the 
plank,  and  Josephine  on  the  other;  then  Alfred  and 
Adelaide  skipped  up  together  at  equal  distances;  so 
that  the  four  children  were  now  standing  in  attitude 
upon  the  same  basis,  which  four  stout  men  endeav- 
oured, with  difficulty,  to  keep  firm.  At  that  mo- 
ment Madame  Baroni,  with  the  two  young  children, 
came  from  behind  the  curtain,  and  vaulted  exactly  on 
the  middle  of  the  board,  so  that  the  bold  Michel  on 
the  one  side,  and  the  demure  Carlotta  on  the  other, 
completed  the  group.  'Thank  you,  my  friends,'  said 
Baroni,  slipping  under  the  plank,  which  was  raised  to 
a  height  which  just  admitted  him  to  pass  under  it, 
'I  will  release  you,'  and  with  his  outstretched  hands 
he  sustained  the  whole  burthen,  the  whole  of  the 
Baroni  family  supported  by  the  father. 

After  this  there  was  a  pause  of  a  few  minutes,  the 
stage  was  cleared  and  Baroni,  in  a  loose  great-coat, 
appeared  at  its  side  with  a  violin.  He  played  a  few 
bars,    then    turning    to    the    audience,    said    with    the 


198  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

same  contemptuous  expression,  which  always  distin- 
guished him  when  he  addressed  them,  'Now  you  are 
going  to  hear  a  scene  from  a  tragedy  of  the  great 
Racine,  one  of  the  greatest  tragedy  writers  that  ever 
existed,  if  you  may  never  have  heard  him;  but  if  you 
were  at  Paris,  and  went  to  the  great  theatre,  you 
would  find  that  what  I  am  telling  you  is  true.'  And 
Josephine  advanced,  warmly  cheered  by  the  specta- 
tors, who  thought  that  they  were  going  to  have  some 
more  tumbling.  She  advanced,  however,  as  Androm- 
ache. It  seemed  to  Sidonia  that  he  had  never  listened 
to  a  voice  more  rich  and  passionate,  to  an  elocution 
more  complete;  he  gazed  with  admiration  on  her 
lightning  glance  and  all  the  tumult  of  her  noble  brow. 
As  she  finished,  he  applauded  her  with  vehemence. 
He  was  standing  near  to  her  fiither  leaning  against 
the  wall. 

'Your  daughter  is  a  great  actress,'  he  said  to  Ba- 
roni. 

'I  sometimes  think  so,'  said  the  father,  turning 
round  with  some  courtesy  to  Sidonia,  whom  he  recog- 
nised as  the  liberal  stranger  who  had  so  kindly  increased 
his  meagre  audience;  'I  let  her  do  this  to  please  her- 
self. She  is  a  good  girl,  but  very  few  of  the  respect- 
able savages  here  speak  French.  However,  she  likes 
it.  Adelaide  is  now  going  to  sing;  that  will  suit 
them  better.' 

Then  there  were  a  few  more  bars  scraped  on  the 
violin,  and  Adelaide,  glowing  rather  than  blushing, 
with  her  eyes  first  on  the  ground  and  then  on  the 
ceiling,  but  in  all  her  movements  ineffable  grace,  came 
forward  and  courtesied.  She  sang  an  air  of  Auber 
and  of  Bellini:  a  voice  of  the  rarest  quality,  and,  it 
seemed  to  Sidonia,  promising  almost  illimitable  power. 


TANCRED  199 

'Your  family  is  gifted,'  he  said  to  Baroni,  as  he 
applauded  his  second  daughter  as  warmly  as  the  first; 
and  the  audience  applauded  her  too. 

'  I  sometimes  think  so.  They  are  all  very  good. 
1  am  afraid,  however,  that  this  gift  will  not  serve  her 
much.  The  good-natured  savages  seem  pleased. 
Carlotta  now  is  going  to  dance;  that  will  suit  them 
better.  She  has  had  good  instruction.  Her  mother 
was  a  dancer.' 

And  immediately,  with  her  lip  a  little  curling,  a 
look  of  complete  self-possession,  willing  to  be  ad- 
mired, yet  not  caring  to  conceal  her  disgust,  the  little 
Carlotta  advanced,  and,  after  pointing  her  toe,  threw 
a  glance  at  her  father  to  announce  that  he  might 
begin.  He  played  with  more  care  and  energy  than 
for  the  other  sisters,  for  Carlotta  was  exceedingly 
wilful  and  imperious,  and,  if  the  music  jarred,  would 
often  stop,  shrug  her  shoulders,  and  refuse  to  pro- 
ceed. Her  mother  doted  on  her;  even  the  austere 
Baroni,  who  ruled  his  children  like  a  Pasha,  though 
he  loved  them,  was  a  little  afraid  of  Carlotta. 

The  boards  were  coarse  and  rough,  some  even  not 
sufficiently  tightened,  but  it  seemed  to  Sidonia,  ex- 
perienced as  he  was  in  the  schools  of  Paris,  London, 
and  Milan,  that  he  had  never  witnessed  a  more  bril- 
liant facility  than  that  now  displayed  by  this  little 
girl.  Her  soul,  too,  was  entirely  in  her  art;  her  coun- 
tenance generally  serious  and  full  of  thought,  yet  oc- 
casionally, when  a  fine  passage  had  been  successfully 
achieved,  radiant  with  triumph  and  delight.  She  was 
cheered,  and  cheered,  and  cheered;  but  treated  the 
applause,  when  she  retired,  with  great  indifference. 
Fortunately,  Sidonia  had  a  rose  in  his  button-hole, 
and  he  stepped  forward  and  presented  it  to  her.    This 


200  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

gratified  Carlotta,  who  bestowed  on  him  a  glance  full 
of  coquetry. 

'And  now,'  said  Baroni,  to  the  people,  'you  are 
going  to  see  the  crucifixion  of  Jesus  Christ:  all  the 
tableaux  are  taken  from  pictures  by  the  most  fimous 
artists  that  ever  lived,  Raphael,  Rubens,  and  others. 
Probably  you  never  heard  of  them.  I  can't  help  that; 
it  is  not  my  fault;  all  1  can  say  is,  that  if  you  go  to 
the  Vatican  and  other  galleries,  you  may  see  them. 
There  will  be  a  pause  of  ten  minutes,  for  the  children 
want  rest.' 

Now  there  was  a  stir  and  a  devouring  of  fruit; 
Baroni,  who  was  on  the  point  of  going  behind  the 
curtain,  came  forward,  and  there  was  silence  again  to 
listen  to  him. 

'I  understand,'  he  said,  roughly,  'there  is  a  col- 
lection going  to  be  made  for  the  children;  mind,  I 
ask  no  one  to  subscribe  to  it;  no  one  obliges  me 
by  giving  anything  to  it;  it  is  for  the  children  and 
the  children  alone,  they  have  it  to  spend,  that  is 
all.' 

The  collectors  were  Michel  and  Adelaide.  Michel 
was  always  successful  at  a  collection.  He  was  a 
great  favourite,  and  wonderfully  bold;  he  would  push 
about  in  the  throng  like  a  Hercules,  whenever  anyone 
called  out  to  him  to  fetch  a  liard.  Adelaide,  who 
carried  the  box,  was  much  too  retiring,  and  did  not 
like  the  business  at  all;  but  it  was  her  turn,  and  she 
could  not  avoid  it.  No  one  gave  them  more  than  a 
sou.  It  is  due,  however,  to  the  little  boys  who  were 
admitted  free,  to  state  that  they  contributed  hand- 
somely; indeed,  they  expended  all  the  money  they 
had  in  the  exhibition  room,  either  in  purchasing  fruit, 
or  in  bestowing  backsheesh  on  the  performers. 


TANCRED  20I 

'Encore  tin  Hard  pour  Michel,'  was  called  out  by 
several  of  them,  in  order  to  make  Michel  rush  back, 
which  he  did  instantly  at  the  exciting  sound,  ready 
to  overwhelm  the  hugest  men  in  his  resistless  course. 

At  last,  Adelaide,  holding  the  box  in  one  hand  and 
her  brother  by  the  other,  came  up  to  Sidonia,  and 
cast  her  eyes  upon  the  ground. 

'For  Michel,'  said  Sidonia,  dropping  a  five-franc 
piece  into  the  box. 

'A  piece  of  a  hundred  sous!'  said  Michel. 

'And  a  piece  of  a  hundred  sous  for  yourself  and 
each  of  your  brothers  and  sisters,  Adelaide,'  said  Si- 
donia, giving  her  a  purse. 

Michel  gave  a  shout,  but  Adelaide  blushed  very 
much,  kissed  his  hand,  and  skipped  away.  When  she 
had  got  behind  the  curtain,  she  jumped  on  her  father's 
neck,  and  burst  into  tears.  Madame  Baroni,  not 
knowing  what  had  occurred,  and  observing  that  Si- 
donia could  command  from  his  position  a  view  of 
what  was  going  on  in  their  sanctuary,  pulled  the  cur- 
tain, and  deprived  Sidonia  of  a  scene  which  interested 
him. 

About  ten  minutes  after  this,  Baroni  again  appeared 
in  his  rough  great-coat,  and  with  his  violin.  He  gave 
a  scrape  or  two,  and  the  audience  became  orderly. 
He  played  an  air,  and  then  turning  to  Sidonia,  look- 
ing at  him  with  great  scrutiny,  he  said,  'Sir,  you  are 
a  prince.' 

'On  the  contrary,'  said  Sidonia,  'I  am  nothing;  I 
am  only  an  artist  like  yourself.' 

'  Ah! '  said  Baroni,  'an  artist  like  myself!  I  thought 
so.  You  have  taste.  And  what  is  your  line  ?  Some 
great  theatre,  I  suppose,  where  even  if  one  is  ruined, 
one  at  least  has  the  command  of  capital.     'Tis  a   po- 


202  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

sition.  I  have  none.  But  I  have  no  rebels  in  my 
company,  no  traitors.     With  one  mind    and  heart  we 

get   on,  and    yet   sometimes '    and    here   a   signal 

near  him  reminded  him  that  he  must  be  playing  an- 
other air,  and  in  a  moment  the  curtain  separated  in 
the  middle,  and  exhibited  a  circular  stage  on  which 
there  were  various  statues  representing  the  sacred  story. 

There  were  none  of  the  usual  means  and  materials 
of  illusion  at  hand;  neither  space,  nor  distance,  nor 
cunning  lights;  it  was  a  confined  tavern  room  with 
some  glaring  tapers,  and  Sidonia  himself  was  almost 
within  arm's  reach  of  the  performers.  Yet  a  repre- 
sentation more  complete,  more  finely  conceived,  and 
more  perfectly  executed,  he  had  never  witnessed.  It 
was  impossible  to  credit  that  these  marble  forms,  im- 
pressed with  ideal  grace,  so  still,  so  sad,  so  sacred, 
could  be  the  little  tumblers,  who,  but  half-an-hour 
before,  were  disporting  on  the  coarse  boards  at  his 
side. 

The  father  always  described,  before  the  curtain 
was  withdrawn,  with  a  sort  of  savage  terseness,  the 
subject  of  the  impending  scene.  The  groups  did  not 
continue  long;  a  pause  of  half  a  minute,  and  the  cir- 
cular stage  revolved,  and  the  curtain  again  closed. 
This  rapidity  of  representation  was  necessary,  lest  de- 
lay should  compromise  the  indispensable  immovable- 
ness  of  the  performers. 

'Now,'  said  Baroni,  turning  his  head  to  the  audi- 
ence, and  slightly  touching  his  violin,  '  Christ  falls 
under  the  weight  of  the  cross.'  And  immediately  the 
curtain  parted,  and  Sidonia  beheld  a  group  in  the 
highest  style  of  art,  and  which  though  deprived  of 
all  the  magic  of  colour,  almost  expressed  the  passion 
of  Correggio. 


TANCRED  203 

'  It  is  Alfred,'  said  Baroni,  as  Sidonia  evinced  his 
admiration.  '  He  chiefly  arranges  all  this,  under  my 
instructions.     In  drapery  his  talent  is  remarkable.' 

At  length,  after  a  series  of  representations,  which 
were  all  worthy  of  being  exhibited  in  the  pavilions  of 
princes,   Baroni  announced  the  last  scene. 

'  What  you  are  going  to  see  now  is  the  Descent 
from  the  Cross;  it  is  after  Rubens,  one  of  the  great- 
est masters  that  ever  lived,  if  you  ever  heard  of  such 
a  person,'  he  added,  in  a  grumbling  voice,  and  then 
turning  to  Sidonia,  he  said,  '  This  crucifixion  is  the 
only  thing  which  these  savages  seem  at  all  to  under- 
stand; but  I  should  like  you,  sir,  as  you  are  an  artist, 
to  see  the  children  in  some  Greek  or  Roman  story: 
Pygmalion,  or  the  Death  of  Agrippina.  I  think  you 
would  be  pleased.' 

'I  cannot  be  more  pleased  than  I  am  now,'  said 
Sidonia.     'I  am  also  astonished.' 

But  here  Baroni  was  obliged  to  scrape  his  fiddle, 
for  the  curtain  moved. 

*  It  is  a  triumph  of  art,'  said  Sidonia,  as  he  beheld 
the  immortal  group  of  Rubens  reproduced  with  a 
precision  and  an  exquisite  feeling  which  no  language 
can  sufficiently  convey,  or  too  much  extol. 

The  performances  were  over,  the  little  artists  were 
summoned  to  the  front  scene  to  be  applauded,  the 
scanty  audience  were  dispersing:  Sidonia  lingered. 

'You  are  living  in  this  house,  I  suppose.?'  he  said 
to  Baroni. 

Baroni  shook  his  head.  '  I  can  afford  no  roof  ex- 
cept my  own.' 

'  And  where  is  that  } ' 

'  On  four  wheels,  on  the  green  here.  We  are 
vagabonds,  and,  I    suppose,  must   always  be  so;  but. 


204  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

being  one  family,  we  can  bear  it.  I  wish  the  children 
to  have  a  good  supper  to-night,  in  honour  of  your 
kindness.  I  have  a  good  deal  to  do.  I  must  put 
these  things  in  order,'  as  he  spoke  he  was  working; 
'there  is  the  grandmother  who  lives  with  us;  all  this 
time  she  is  alone,  guarded,  however,  by  the  dog.  I 
should  like  them  to  have  meat  to-night,  if  I  can  get 
it.  Their  mother  cooks  the  supper.  Then  I  have  got 
to  hear  them  say  their  prayers.  All  this  takes  time, 
particularly  as  we  have  to  rise  early,  and  do  many 
things  before  we  make  our  first  course  through  the 
city.' 

'I  will  come  and  see  you  to-morrow,'  said  Sido- 
nia,   'after  your  first  progress.' 

'An  hour  after  noon,  if  you  please,'  said  Baroni. 
'It  is  pleasant  for  me  to  become  acquainted  with  a 
fellow  artist,  and  one  so  liberal  as  yourself.' 

'Your  name  is  Baroni,'  said  Sidonia,  looking  at 
him  earnestly. 

'  My  name  is  Baroni.' 

'  An  Italian   name.' 

'Yes,  I  come  from  Cento.' 

'Well,  we  shall  meet  to-morrow.  Good  night, 
Baroni.  1  am  going  to  send  you  some  wine  for  your 
supper,  and  take  care  the  grandmamma  drinks  my 
health.' 


It  was  a  sunny  morn:  upon  the  green  contiguous 
to  the  Auberge  of  St.  Nicholas  was  a  house  upon 
wheels,  a  sort  of  monster  omnibus,  its  huge  shafts 
idle   on  the   ground,  while   three  fat   Flemish    horses 


TANCRED  205 

cropped  the  surrounding  pasture.  From  the  door  of 
the  house  were  some  temporary  steps,  hke  an  ac- 
commodation ladder,  on  which  sat  Baroni,  dressed 
something  hke  a  Neapohtan  fisherman,  and  mend- 
ing his  clarionet;  the  man  in  the  blouse  was  eating 
his  dinner,  seated  between  the  shafts,  to  which  also 
was  fastened  the  little  dog,  often  the  only  garrison, 
except  the  grandmother,  of  this  strange  establish- 
ment. 

The  little  dog  began  barking  vociferously,  and 
Baroni,  looking  up,  instantly  bade  him  be  quiet.  It 
was  Sidonia  whose  appearance  in  the  distance  had 
roused  the  precautionary  voice. 

'Well,'  said  Sidonia,  'I  heard  your  trumpets  this 
morning.' 

'The  grandmother  sleeps,'  said  Baroni,  taking  off 
his  cap,  and  slightly  rising.  'The  rest  also  are  lying 
down  after  their  dinner.  Children  will  never  repose 
unless  there  are  rules,  and  this  with  them  is  inva- 
riable.' 

'  But  your  children  surely  cannot  be  averse  to  re- 
pose, for  they  require  it.' 

'Their  blood  is  young,'  continued  Baroni,  still 
mending  his  clarionet;  'they  are  naturally  gay,  except 
my  eldest  son.     He  is  restless,  but  he  is  not  gay.' 

'He  likes  his  art?' 

'Not  too  much;  what  he  wants  is  to  travel,  and, 
after  all,  though  we  are  always  moving,  the  circle  is 
limited.' 

'Yes;  you  have  many  to  move.  And  can  this  ark 
contain  them  all?'  said  Sidonia,  seating  himself  on 
some  timber  that  was  at  hand. 

'With  convenience  even,'  replied  Baroni;  'but 
everything  can  be  effected  by  order  and  discipline.     I 


io6  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

rule  and  regulate  my  house  like  a  ship.  In  a  vessel, 
there  is  not  as  much  accommodation  for  the  size  as 
in  a  house  of  this  kind;  yet  nowhere  is  there  more 
decency  and  cleanliness  than  on  board  ship.' 

'You  have  an  obedient  crew,'  said  Sidonia,  'and 
that  is  much.' 

'Yes;  when  they  wake  my  children  say  their 
prayers,  and  then  they  come  to  embrace  me  and  their 
mother.  This  they  have  never  omitted  during  their 
lives.  1  have  taught  them  from  their  birth  to 
obey  God  and  to  honour  their  parents.  These  two 
principles  have  made  them  a  religious  and  moral 
family.  They  have  kept  us  united,  and  sustained  us 
under  severe   trials.' 

'Yet  such  talents  as  you  all  possess,'  said  Sidonia, 
'  should  have  exempted  you  from  any  very  hard 
struggle,  especially  when  united,  as  apparently  in 
your  case,  with  well-ordered  conduct.' 

'It  would  seem  that  they  should,'  said  Baroni, 
'  but  less  talents  than  we  possess  would,  probably, 
obtain  as  high  a  reward.  The  audiences  that  we  ad- 
dress have  little  feeling  for  art,  and  all  these  per- 
formances, which  you  so  much  applauded  last  night, 
would  not,  perhaps,  secure  even  the  feeble  patronage 
we  experience,  if  they  were  not  preceded  by  some 
feats  of  agility  or  strength.' 

'  You  have  never  appealed  to  a  higher  class  of 
audience  ?' 

'No;  my  father  was  a  posture-master,  as  his  father 
was  before  him.  These  arts  are  traditionary  in  our 
family,  and  I  care  not  to  say  for  what  length  of  time 
and  from  what  distant  countries  we  believe  them 
to  have  been  received  by  us.  My  father  died 
by  a  fall  from   a  tight   rope   in    the  midst  of  a  grand 


TANCRED  207 

illumination  at  Florence,  and  left  me  a  youth.  I 
count  now  only  sixty-and-thirty  summers.  I  married, 
as  soon  as  I  could,  a  dancer  at  Milan.  We  had  no 
capital,  but  our  united  talents  found  success.  We 
loved  our  children;  it  was  necessary  to  act  with  deci- 
sion, or  we  should  have  been  separated  and  trampled 
into  the  mud.  Then  I  devised  this  house  and  wan- 
dering life,  and  we  exist  in  general  as  you  see  us. 
In  the  winter,  if  our  funds  permit  it,  we  reside  in 
some  city,  where  we  educate  our  children  in  the  arts 
which  they  pursue.  The  mother  can  still  dance,  sings 
prettily,  and  has  some  knowledge  of  music.  For  my- 
self, 1  can  play  in  some  fashion  upon  every  instru- 
ment, and  have  almost  taught  them  as  much;  I  can 
paint,  too,  a  scene,  compose  a  group,  and  with  the 
aid  of  my  portfolio  of  prints,  have  picked  up  more 
knowledge  of  the  costume  of  different  centuries  than 
you  would  imagine.  If  you  see  Josephine  to-night  in 
the  Maid  of  Orleans  you  would  perhaps  be  surprised. 
A  great  judge,  like  yourself  a  real  artist,  once  told 
me  at  Bruxelles,  that  the  grand  opera  could  not  pro- 
duce its  equal.' 

'I  can  credit  it,'  said  Sidonia,  'for  I  perceive  in 
Josephine,  as  well  as  indeed  in  all  your  children,  a 
rare  abihty.' 

'I  will  be  frank,'  said  Baroni,  looking  at  Sidonia 
very  earnestly,  and  laying  down  his  clarionet.  '  I 
conclude  from  what  you  said  last  night,  and  the  in- 
terest that  you  take  in  the  children,  that  you  are 
something  in  our  way,  though  on  a  great  scale.  I 
apprehend  you  are  looking  out  for  novelties  for  the 
next  season,  and  sometimes  in  the  provinces  things 
are  to  be  found.  If  you  will  take  us  to  London  or 
Paris,  I  will  consent  to  receive  no  remuneration  if  the 


2o8  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

venture  foil;  all  I  shall  then  require  will  be  a  decent 
maintenance,  which  you  can  calculate  beforehand:  if 
the  speculation  answer,  I  will  not  demand  more  than 
a  third  of  the  profits,  leaving  it  to  your  own  liberality 
to  make  me  any  regalo  in  addition,  that  you  think 
proper.' 

'A  very  fair  proposal,'  said  Sidonia. 

*  Is  it  a  bargain  ?' 

'I  must  think  over  it,'  said  Sidonia. 

'Well;  God  prosper  your  thoughts,  for,  from  what 
I  see  of  you,  you  are  a  man  1  shou.'d  be  proud  to 
work  with.' 

'Well,  we  may  yet  be  comrades.' 

The  children  appeared  at  the  door  of  the  house, 
and,  not  to  disturb  their  father,  vaulted  down.  They 
saluted  Sidonia  with  much  respect,  and  then  with- 
drew to  some  distance.  The  mother  appeared  at  the 
door,  and,  leaning  down,  whispered  something  to 
Baroni,  who,  after  a  little  hesitation,  said  to  Sidonia, 
'The  grandmother  is  awake;  she  has  a  wish  to  thank 
you  for  your  kindness  to  the  children.  It  will  not 
trouble  you;  merely  a  word;  but  women  have  their 
fancies,  and  we  like  always  to  gratify  her,  because 
she  is  much  alone  and  never  complains,' 

'By  all  means,'  said  Sidonia. 

Whereupon  they  ushered  forward  a  venerable 
woman  with  a  true  Italian  f^ice;  hair  white  as  snow, 
and  eyes  still  glittering  with  fire,  with  features  like 
a  Roman  bust,  and  an  olive  complexion.  Sidonia  ad- 
dressed her  in  Italian,  which  greatly  pleased  her. 
She  was  profuse,  even  solemn,  in  her  thanks  to  him; 
she  added,  she  was  sure,  from  all  that  she  had  heard 
of  him,  if  he  took  the  children  with  him,  he  would 
be  kind  to  them. 


TANCRED  209 

'She  has  overheard  something  I  said  to  my  wife,' 
said  Baroni,  a  Uttle  embarrassed. 

'I  am  sure  I  should  be  kind  to  them,'  said  Sidonia, 
'for  many  reasons,  and  particularly  for  one;'  and  he 
whispered  something  in  Baroni's  ear. 

Baroni  started  from  his  seat  with  a  glowing  cheek, 
but  Sidonia,  looking  at  his  watch  and  promising  to 
attend  their  evening  performance,  bade  them  adieu. 


The  performances  were  more  meagrely  attended 
this  evening  than  even  on  the  preceding  one,  but  had 
they  been  conducted  in  the  royal  theatre  of  a  capital, 
they  could  not  have  been  more  elaborate,  nor  the 
troupe  have  exerted  themselves  with  greater  order  and 
effect.  It  mattered  not  a  jot  to  them  whether  their 
benches  were  thronged  or  vacant;  the  only  audience 
for  whom  the  Baroni  family  cared  was  the  foreign 
manager,  young,  generous,  and  speculative,  whom 
they  had  evidently  without  intention  already  pleased, 
and  whose  good  opinion  they  resolved  to-night  en- 
tirely to  secure.  And  in  this  they  perfectly  succeeded. 
Josephine  was  a  tragic  muse;  all  of  them,  even  to 
little  Carlotta,  performed  as  if  their  destiny  depended 
on  the  die.  Baroni  would  not  permit  the  children's 
box  to  be  carried  round  to-night,  as  he  thought  it  an 
unfair  tax  on  the  generous  stranger,  whom  he  did 
not  the  less  please  by  this  well-bred  abstinence.  As 
for  the  mediaeval  and  historic  groups,  Sidonia  could 
recall  nothing  equal  to  them;  and  what  surprised  him 
most  was  the  effect  produced  by  such  miserable  ma- 
terials.    It   seemed  that  the  whole   was  effected  with 

16     B.  D.— 14 


2IO  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

some  stiffened  linen  and  paper;  but  the  divine  touch 
of  art  turned  everything  to  gold.  One  statue  of 
Henri  IV.  with  his  flowing  plume,  and  his  rich  ro- 
mantic dress,  was  quite  striking.  It  was  the  very 
plume  that  had  won  at  Ivry,  and  yet  was  nothing 
more  than  a  sheet  of  paper  cut  and  twisted  by  the 
plastic  finger  of  little  Alfred. 

There  was  to  be  no  performance  on  the  morrow; 
the  niggard  patronage  of  the  town  had  been  ex- 
hausted. Indeed,  had  it  not  been  for  Sidonia,  the 
little  domestic  troupe  would,  ere  this,  have  quitted  the 
sullen  town,  where  they  had  laboured  so  finely,  and 
achieved  such  an  ungracious  return.  On  the  morrow 
Baroni  was  to  ride  one  of  the  fat  horses  over  to 
Berg,  a  neighbouring  town  of  some  importance, 
where  there  was  even  a  little  theatre  to  be  engaged, 
and  if  he  obtained  the  permission  of  the  mayor,  and 
could  make  fair  terms,  he  proposed  to  give  there  a 
series  of  representations.  The  mother  was  to  stay  at 
home  and  take  care  of  the  grandmother;  but  the  chil- 
dren, all  the  children,  were  to  have  a  holiday,  and 
to  dine  with  Sidonia  at  his  hotel. 

It  would  have  been  quite  impossible  for  the  most 
respectable  burgher,  even  of  the  grand  place  of  a 
Flemish  city,  to  have  sent  his  children  on  a  visit  in 
trim  more  neat,  proper,  and  decorous,  than  that  in 
which  the  Baroni  family  figured  on  the  morrow, 
when  they  went  to  pay  their  respects  to  their  patron. 
The  girls  were  in  clean  white  frocks  with  little  black 
silk  jackets,  their  hair  beautifully  tied  and  plaited,  and 
their  heads  uncovered,  according  to  the  fashion  of  the 
country:  not  an  ornament  or  symptom  of  tawdry 
taste  was  visible;  not  even  a  necklace,  although  they 
necessarily  passed  their  lives  in   fanciful    or   grotesque 


TANCRED  211 

attire;  the  boys,  in  foraging  caps  all  of  the  same 
fashion,  were  dressed  in  blouses  of  holland,  with 
bands  and  buckles,  their  broad  shirt  collars  thrown 
over  their  shoulders.  It  is  astonishing,  as  Baroni  said, 
what  order  and  discipline  will  do;  but  how  that 
wonderful  house  upon  wheels  contrived  to  contain  all 
these  articles  of  dress,  from  the  uniform  of  the  mar- 
shal of  France  to  the  diminutive  blouse  of  little 
Michel,  and  how  their  wearers  always  managed  to 
issue  from  it  as  if  they  came  forth  from  the  most 
commodious  and  amply-furnished  mansion,  was  truly 
yet  pleasingly  perplexing.  Sidonia  took  them  all  in 
a  large  landau  to  see  a  famous  chateau  a  few  miles 
off,  full  of  pictures  and  rich  old  furniture,  and  built 
in  famous  gardens.  This  excursion  would  have  been 
delightful  to  them,  if  only  from  its  novelty,  but,  as  a 
substitute  for  their  daily  progress  through  the  town, 
it  offered  an  additional  gratification. 

The  behaviour  of  these  children  greatly  interested 
and  pleased  Sidonia.  Their  conduct  to  each  other 
was  invariably  tender  and  affectionate:  their  carriage 
to  him,  though  full  of  respect,  never  constrained,  and 
touched  by  an  engaging  simplicity.  Above  all,  in 
whatever  they  did  or  said,  there  was  grace.  They 
did  nothing  awkwardly;  their  voices  were  musical; 
they  were  merry  without  noise,  and  their  hearts 
sparkled  in  their  eyes. 

'I  begin  to  suspect  that  these  youthful  vagabonds, 
struggling  for  life,  have  received  a  perfect  education,' 
thought  the  ever-musing  Sidonia,  as  he  leaned  back 
in  the  landau,  and  watched  the  group  that  he  had 
made  so  happy.  '  A  sublime  religious  principle  sus- 
tains their  souls;  a  tender  morality  regulates  their 
hves;  and  with  the   heart   and    the   spirit   thus   devel- 


212  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

oped,  they  are  brought  up  in  the  pursuit  and  produc- 
tion of  the  beautiful.  It  is  the  complete  culture  of 
philosophic  dreams!' 


IV. 


The  children  had  never  sat  down  before  to 
a  regular  dinner,  and  they  told  Sidonia  so.  Their 
confession  added  a  zest  to  the  repast.  He  gave  them 
occasional  instructions,  and  they  listened  as  if  they 
were  receiving  directions  for  a  new  performance. 
They  were  so  quick  and  so  tractable,  that  their  prog- 
ress was  rapid;  and  at  the  second  course  Josephine 
was  instructing  Michel,  and  Alfred  guiding  the  rather 
helpless  but  always  self-composed  Carlotta.  After 
dinner,  while  Sidonia  helped  them  to  sugar-plums,  he 
without  effort  extracted  from  each  their  master  wish. 
Josephine  desired  to  be  an  actress,  while  Adele  con- 
fessed that,  though  she  sighed  for  the  boards,  her 
secret  aspirations  were  for  the  grand  opera.  Carlotta 
thought  the  world  was  made  to  dance. 

'For  my  part,'  said  Francis,  the  eldest  son,  'I 
have  no  wish  to  be  idle;  but  there  are  two  things 
which  1  have  always  desired:  first,  that  I  should 
travel;  and,  secondly,  that  nobody  should  ever  know 
me.' 

'And  what  would  Alfred  wish  to  be.^'  said  Si- 
donia. 

'  Indeed,  sir,  if  it  did  not  take  me  from  my 
t>rothers  and  sisters,  I  should  certainly  wish  to  be  a 
painter.' 

'  Michel  has  not  yet  found  out  what  he  wishes,' 
said  Sidonia. 


TANCRED  213 

*I  wish  to  play  upon  the  horn,'  said  Michel,  with 
great  determination. 

When  Sidonia  embraced  them  before  their  depar- 
ture, he  gave  each  of  the  girls  a  French  shawl;  to 
Francis  he  gave  a  pair  of  English  pistols,  to  guard 
him  when  he  travelled;  Alfred  received  a  portfolio 
full  of  drawings  of  costume.  It  only  arrived  after 
dinner,  for  the  town  was  too  poor  to  supply  anything 
good  enough  for  the  occasion,  and  Sidonia  had  sent 
a  special  messenger,  the  day  before,  for  it  to  Lille. 
Michel  was  the  guardian  of  a  basket  laden  with  good 
things,  which  he  was  to  have  the  pleasure  of  dividing 
among  the  Baroni  family.  'And  if  your  papa  come 
back  to-night,'  said  Sidonia  to  Josephine,  '  tell  him  I 
should  like  to  have  a  word  with  him.' 


V. 

Sidonia  had  already  commenced  that  habit  which, 
during  subsequent  years,  he  has  so  constantly  and 
successfully  pursued,  namely,  of  enlisting  in  his  serv- 
ice all  the  rare  talent  which  he  found  lying  common 
and  unappropriated  in  the  great  wilderness  of  the 
world,  no  matter  if  the  object  to  which  it  would 
apply  might  not  immediately  be  in  sight.  The  con- 
juncture would  arrive  when  it  would  be  wanted. 
Thus  he  generally  had  ready  the  right  person  for  the 
occasion;  and,  whatever  might  be  the  transaction,  the 
human  instrument  was  rarely  wanting.  Independent 
of  the  power  and  advantage  which  this  system  gave 
him,  his  abstract  interest  in  intellect  made  the  pursuit 
delightful  to  him.  He  liked  to  give  ability  of  all 
kinds  its  scope.     Nothing  was  more  apt  to  make  him 


214  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

melancholy,  than  to  hear  of  persons  of  talents  dying 
without  having  their  chance.  A  failure  is  nothing;  it 
may  be  deserved,  or  it  may  be  remedied.  In  the 
first  instance,  it  brings  self-knowledge;  in  the  second, 
it  develops  a  new  combination  usually  triumphant. 
But  incapacity,  from  not  having  a  chance  of  being 
capable,  is  a  bitter  lot,  which  Sidonia  was  ever  ready 
to  alleviate. 

The  elder  Baroni  possessed  Herculean  strength, 
activity  almost  as  remarkable,  a  practised  courage, 
and  a  controlling  mind.  He  was  in  the  prime  of 
manhood,  and  spoke  several  languages.  He  was  a 
man,  according  to  Sidonia's  views,  of  high  moral 
principle,  entirely  trustworthy.  He  was  too  valuable 
an  instrument  to  allow  to  run  to  seed  as  the  strolling 
manager  of  a  caravan  of  tumblers;  and  it  is  not  im- 
probable that  Sidonia  would  have  secured  his  serv- 
ices, even  if  he  had  not  become  acquainted  with  the 
Baroni  family.  But  they  charmed  him.  In  every 
member  of  it  he  recognised  character,  and  a  predis- 
position which  might  even  be  genius.  He  re- 
solved that  every  one  of  them  should  have  a  chance. 

When  therefore  Baroni,  wearied  and  a  little  dis- 
gusted with  an  unpromising  journey,  returned  from 
Berg  in  the  evening,  and,  in  consequence  of  the  mes- 
sage of  his  children,  repaired  instantly  to  the  hotel  of 
Sidonia,  his  astonishment  was  great  when  he  found  the 
manager  converted  into  a  millionaire,  and  that  too  the 
most  celebrated  in  Europe.  But  no  language  can  con- 
vey his  wonder  when  he  learnt  the  career  that  was 
proposed  to  him,  and  the  fortunes  that  were  carved 
out  for  his  children.  He  himself  was  to  repair,  with 
all  his  family,  except  Josephine  and  her  elder  brother, 
at  once  to  Vienna,  where  he  was  to  be  installed  into 


TANCRED  215 

a  post  of  great  responsibility  and  emolument.  He 
was  made  superintendent  of  the  couriers  of  tiie  house 
of  Sidonia  in  that  capital,  and  especially  of  those  that 
conveyed  treasure.  Though  his  duties  would  entail 
frequent  absences  on  him,  he  was  to  be  master  of  a 
constant  and  complete  establishment.  Alfred  was  im- 
mediately to  become  a  pupil  of  the  Academy  of 
Painters,  and  Carlotta  of  that  of  dancing;  the  talents 
of  Michel  were  to  be  watched,  and  to  be  reported  to 
Sidonia  at  fitting  periods.  As  for  Adele,  she  was 
consigned  to  a  lady  who  had  once  been  a  celebrated 
prima  donna,  with  whom  she  was  to  pursue  her 
studies,  although  still  residing  under  the  paternal  roof. 

'Josephine  will  repair  to  Paris  at  once  with  her 
brother,'  said  Sidonia.  *My  family  will  guard  over 
her.  She  will  enjoy  her  brother's  society  until  I  com- 
mence my  travels.     He  will  then  accompany  me.' 

It  is  nearly  twenty  years  since  these  incidents  oc- 
curred, and  perhaps  the  reader  may  feel  not  altogether 
uninterested  in  the  subsequent  fate  of  the  children  of 
Baroni.  Mademoiselle  Josephine  is  at  this  moment 
the  glory  of  the  French  stage;  without  any  question 
the  most  admirable  tragic  actress  since  Clairon,  and 
inferior  not  even  to  her.  The  spirit  of  French  tragedy 
has  risen  from  the  imperial  couch  on  which  it  had 
long  slumbered  since  her  appearance,  at  the  same 
time  classical  and  impassioned,  at  once  charmed  and 
commanded  the  most  refined  audience  in  Europe. 
Adele,  under  the  name  of  Madame  Baroni,  is  the 
acknowledged  Queen  of  Song  in  London,  Paris,  Ber- 
lin, and  St.  Petersburg;  while  her  younger  sister, 
Carlotta  Baroni,  shares  the  triumphs,  and  equals  the 
renown,  of  a  Taglioni  and  a  Cerito.  At  this  moment, 
Madame  Baroni  performs  to  enthusiastic   audiences  in 


2i6  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

the  first  opera  of  her  brother  Michel,  who  promises 
to  be  the  rival  of  Meyerbeer  and  Mendelssohn;  all  de- 
lightful intelligence  to  meet  the  ear  of  the  soft-hearted 
Alfred,  who  is  painting  the  new  chambers  of  the 
Papal  palace,  a  Cavaliere,  decorated  with  many  orders, 
and  the  restorer  of  the    once   famous    Roman    school. 

'Thus,'  continued  Baroni  to  Tancred,  'we  have  all 
succeeded  in  life  because  we  fell  across  a  great  phi- 
losopher, who  studied  our  predisposition.  As  for  my- 
self, 1  told  M.  de  Sidonia  that  I  wished  to  travel  and 
to  be  unknown,  and  so  he  made  of  me  a  secret 
agent.' 

'  There  is  something  most  interesting,'  said  Tancred, 
'  in  this  idea  of  a  single  family  issuing  from  obscurity, 
and  disseminating  their  genius  through  the  world, 
charming  mankind  with  so  many  spells.  How  fortu- 
nate for  you  all  that  Sidonia  had  so  much  feeling  for 
genius! ' 

'And  some  feeling  for  his  race,'  said  Baroni. 

'  How  ?  '  said  Tancred,  startled. 

'  You  remember  he  whispered  something  in  my 
father's  ear?' 

'I  remember.' 

'He  spoke  it  in  Hebrew,  and  he  was  understood.' 

'You  do  not  mean  that  you,  too,  are  Jews.^' 

'Pure  Sephardim,  in  nature  and  in  name.' 

'  But  your  name  surely  is  Italian  ? ' 

'Good  Arabic,  my  lord.  Baroni;  that  is,  the  son 
of  Aaron;  the  name  of  old  clothesmen  in  London, 
and  of  caliphs  at  Bagdad.' 


CHAPTER   XLI. 
The  Mountains  of  Lebanon. 

OW  do  you  like  my  forest?'  asked 
Fakredeen  of  Tancred,  as,  while 
descending  a  range  of  the  Leb- 
anon, an  extensive  valley  opened 
before  them,  covered  with  oak 
trees,  which  clothed  also,  with  their 
stout  trunks,  their  wide-spreading  branches,  and  their 
rich  starry  foliage,  the  opposite  and  undulating  hills, 
one  of  which  was  crowned  with  a  convent.  '  It  is 
the  only  oak  forest  in  Syria.  It  will  serve  some  day 
to  build  our  fleet.' 

At  Gaza,  which  they  had  reached  by  easy  jour- 
neys, for  Fakredeen  was  very  considerate  of  the 
health  of  Tancred,  whose  wound  had  scarcely  healed, 
and  over  whom  he  watched  with  a  delicate  solicitude 
which  would  have  almost  become  a  woman,  the  com- 
panions met  Scheriff  Effendi.  The  magic  signature  of 
Lord  Montacute  settled  the  long-vexed  question  of  the 
five  thousand  muskets,  and  secured  also  ten  thousand 
piastres  for  the  commander  of  the  escort  to  deliver  to 
his  chief.  The  children  of  Rechab,  in  convoy  of  the 
precious   charge,  certain    cases    of  which  were   to   be 

(217) 


2i8  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

delivered  to  the  great  Sheikh,  and  the  rest  to  be  de- 
posited in  indicated  quarters  of  the  Lebanon,  here 
took  leave  of  the  Emir  and  his  friend,  and  pursued 
their  course  to  the  north  of  Hebron  and  the  Dead 
Sea,  in  the  direction  of  the  Hauraan,  where  they 
counted,  if  not  on  overtaking  the  great  Sheikh,  at 
least  on  the  additional  security  which  his  neighbour- 
hood would  ensure  them.  Their  late  companions  re- 
mained at  Gaza,  awaiting  Tancred's  yacht,  which 
Baroni  fetched  from  the  neighbouring  Jaffa.  A  favour- 
able breeze  soon  carried  them  from  Gaza  to  Beiroot, 
where  they  landed,  and  where  Fakredeen  had  the  po- 
litical pleasure  of  exhibiting  his  new  and  powerful 
ally,  a  prince,  an  English  prince,  the  brother  perhaps 
of  a  queen,  unquestionably  the  owner  of  a  splendid 
yacht,  to  the  admiring  eye  of  all  his,  at  the  same 
time,  credulous  and  rapacious  creditors. 

The  air  of  the  mountains  invigorated  Tancred. 
His  eyes  had  rested  so  long  on  the  ocean  and  the 
desert,  that  the  effect  produced  on  the  nerves  by  the 
forms  and  colours  of  a  more  varied  nature  were  alone 
reviving. 

There  are  regions  more  lofty  than  the  glaciered 
crests  of  Lebanon;  mountain  scenery  more  sublime, 
perhaps  even  more  beautiful:  its  peaks  are  not  lost 
in  the  clouds  like  the  mysterious  Ararat;  its  forests 
are  not  as  vast  and  strange  as  the  towering  Hima- 
laya; it  has  not  the  volcanic  splendour  of  the  glow- 
ing Andes;  in  lake  and  in  cataract  it  must  yield  to 
the  European  Alps;  but  for  life,  vigorous,  varied,  and 
picturesque,  there  is  no  highland  territory  in  the  globe 
that  can  for  a  moment  compare  with  the  great  chain 
of  Syria. 


TANCRED  219 

Man  has  fled  from  the  rich  and  servile  plains,  from 
the  tyranny  of  the  Turk  and  from  Arabian  rapine,  to 
clothe  the  crag  with  vines,  and  rest  under  his  fig  tree 
on  the  mountain  top.  An  ingenious  spirit,  unwearied 
industry,  and  a  bland  atmosphere  have  made  a  per- 
petual garden  of  the  Syrian  mountains.  Their  acclivi- 
ties sparkle  with  terraces  of  corn  and  fruit.  Castle 
and  convent  crown  their  nobler  heights,  and  flat- 
roofed  villages  nestle  amid  groves  of  mulberry  trees. 
Among  these  mountains  we  find  several  human  races, 
several  forms  of  government,  and  several  schemes  of 
religion,  yet  everywhere  liberty:  a  proud,  feudal  aris- 
tocracy; a  conventual  establishment,  which  in  its 
ramifications  recalls  the  middle  ages;  a  free  and  armed 
peasantry,  whatever  their  creed.  Emirs  on  Arabian 
steeds,  bishops  worthy  of  the  Apostles,  the  Maronite 
monk,  the  horned  head-gear  of  the  Druses. 

Some  of  those  beautiful  horses,  for  which  Fakre- 
deen  was  celebrated,  had  awaited  the  travellers  at 
Beiroot.  The  journey  through  the  mountain  was  to 
last  three  days  before  they  reached  Canobia,  They 
halted  one  night  at  a  mountain  village,  where  the 
young  Emir  was  received  with  enthusiastic  devotion, 
and  on  the  next  at  a  small  castle  belonging  to  Fakre- 
deen,  and  where  resided  one  of  his  kinsmen.  Two 
hours  before  sunset,  on  the  third  day,  they  were  en- 
tering the  oak  forest  to  which  we  referred,  and 
through  whose  glades  they  journeyed  for  about  half 
an  hour.  On  arriving  at  the  convent-crowned  height 
opposite,  they  beheld  an  expanse  of  country;  a  small 
plain  amid  the  mountains;  in  many  parts  richly  culti- 
vated, studded  by  several  hamlets,  and  watered  by  a 
stream,    winding  amid   rich    shrubberies  of  oleander. 


110  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

Almost  in  the  middle  of  this  plain,  on  a  height  su- 
perior to  the  immediate  elevations  which  bounded 
it,  rose  a  mountain  of  gradual  ascent,  covered  with 
sycamores,  and  crowned  by  a  superb  Saracenic  cas- 
tle. 

'Canobia!'  said  Fakredeen  to  Tancred,  'which  I 
hope  you  never  will  quit.' 

'It  would  be  difficult,'  rejoined  Tancred,  animated. 
'I  have  seldom  seen  a  sight  more  striking  and  more 
beautiful.' 

In  the  meantime.  Freeman  and  Trueman,  who  were 
far  in  the  rear  amid  Fakredeen's  attendants,  exchanged 
congratulating  glances  of  blended  surprise  and  appro- 
bation. 

'This  is  the  first  gentleman's  seat  I  have  seen  since 
we  left  England,'  said  Freeman. 

'There  must  have  been  a  fine  coming  of  age  here,' 
rejoined  Trueman. 

'As  for  that,'  replied  Freeman,  'comings  of  age 
depend  in  a  manner  upon  meat  and  drink.  They  ain't 
in  noways  to  be  carried  out  with  coffee  and  pipes. 
Without  oxen  roasted  whole,  and  broached  hogsheads, 
they  ain't  in  a  manner  legal.' 

A  horseman,  who  was  ahead  of  the  Emir  and  Tan- 
cred, now  began  beating  with  a  stick  on  two  small 
tabors,  one  on  each  side  of  his  saddle,  and  thus  an- 
nounced to  those  who  were  already  on  the  watch, 
the  approach  of  their  lord.  It  was  some  time,  how- 
ever, before  the  road,  winding  through  the  sycamore 
trees  and  gradually  ascending,  brought  them  to  the 
outworks  of  the  castle,  of  which,  during  their  progress, 
they  enjoyed  a  variety  of  views.  It  was  a  very  ex- 
tensive pile,  in  excellent  condition,  and  apparently 
strongly  fortified.     A  number  of  men,  in  showy  dresses 


TANCRED  221 

and  with  ornamented  arms,  were  clustered  round  the 
embattled  gateway,  which  introduced  the  travellers 
into  a  quadrangle  of  considerable  size,  and  of  which 
the  light  and  airy  style  pleasingly  and  suitably  con- 
trasted with  the  sterner  and  more  massive  character 
of  the  exterior  walls.  A  fountain  rose  in  the  centre 
of  the  quadrangle  which  was  surrounded  by  arcades. 
Ranged  round  this  fountain,  in  a  circle,  were  twenty 
saddled  steeds  of  the  highest  race,  each  held  by  a 
groom,  and  each  attended  by  a  man-at-arms.  All 
pressed  their  hands  to  their  hearts  as  the  Emir  entered, 
but  with  a  gravity  of  countenance  which  was  never 
for  a  moment  disturbed.  Whether  their  presence  were 
habitual,  or  only  for  the  occasion,  it  was  unquestion- 
ably impressive.  Here  the  travellers  dismounted,  and 
Fakredeen  ushered  Tancred  through  a  variety  of  sa- 
loons, of  which  the  furniture,  though  simple,  as  be- 
comes the  East,  was  luxurious,  and,  of  its  kind, 
superb;  floors  of  mosaic  marbles,  bright  carpets,  ara- 
besque ceilings,  walls  of  carved  cedar,  and  broad 
divans  of  the  richest  stuffs  of  Damascus. 

'And  this  divan  is  for  you,'  said  Fakredeen,  show- 
ing Tancred  into  a  chamber,  which  opened  upon  a 
flower-garden  shaded  by  lemon  trees.  'I  am  proud 
of  my  mirror,*  he  added,  with  some  exultation,  as  he 
called  Tancred's  attention  to  a  large  French  looking- 
glass,  the  only  one  in  Lebanon.  'And  this,'  added 
Fakredeen,  leading  Tancred  through  a  suite  of  marble 
chambers,   'this  is  your  bath.' 

In  the  centre  of  one  chamber,  fed  by  a  perpetual 
fountain,  was  a  large  alabaster  basin,  the  edges  of 
which  were  strewn  with  flowers  just  culled.  The 
chamber  was  entirely  of  porcelain;  a  golden  flower 
on  a  ground  of  delicate  green. 


222 


BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 


'I  will  send  your  people  to  you,'  said  Fakredeen; 
'but,  in  the  meantime,  there  are  attendants  here  who 
are,  perhaps,  more  used  to  the  duty;'  and,  so  saying, 
he  clapped  his  hands,  and  several  servants  appeared, 
bearing  baskets  of  curious  linen,  whiter  than  the  snow 
of  Lebanon,  and  a  variety  of  robes. 


CHAPTER   XLII 


Strange  Ceremonies. 

HAS  been  long  decreed  that  no 
poet  may  introduce  the  Phoenix. 
Scylla  and  Charybdis  are  both  suc- 
cessfully avoided  even  by  provin- 
cial rhetoric.  The  performance  of 
Hamlet  with  the  part  of  Hamlet 
omitted,  and  Mahomet's  unhappy  coffin,  these  are  illus- 
trations that  have  long  been  the  prerogative  of  dolts 
and  dullards.  It  is  not  for  a  moment  to  be  tolerated 
that  an  oasis  should  be  met  with  anywhere  except  in 
the  desert. 

We  sadly  lack  a  new  stock  of  public  images. 
The  current  similes,  if  not  absolutely  counterfeit,  are 
quite  worn  out.  They  have  no  intrinsic  value,  and 
serve  only  as  counters  to  represent  the  absence  of 
ideas.  The  critics  should  really  call  them  in.  In  the 
good  old  days,  when  the  superscription  was  fresh, 
and  the  mint  mark  bright  upon  the  metal,  we  should 
have  compared  the  friendship  of  two  young  men  to 
that  of  Damon  and  Pythias.  These  were  individuals 
then  still  well  known  in  polite  society.  If  their  ex- 
amples have  ceased  to  influence,  it  cannot  be  pre- 
tended that  the  extinction  of  their  authority  has  been 

(223) 


224  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

the  consequence  of  competition.  Our  enlightened  age 
has  not  produced  them  any  rivals. 

Of  all  the  differences  between  the  ancients  and 
ourselves,  none  more  striking  than  our  respective  ideas 
of  friendship.  Grecian  friendship  was  indeed  so 
ethereal,  that  it  is  difficult  to  define  its  essential  quali- 
ties. They  must  be  sought  rather  in  the  pages  of 
Plato,  or  the  moral  essays  of  Plutarch  perhaps,  and 
in  some  other  books  not  quite  as  well  known,  but 
not  less  interesting  and  curious.  As  for  modern 
friendship,  it  will  be  found  in  clubSo  It  is  violent  at 
a  house  dinner,  fervent  in  a  cigar  shop,  full  of  devo- 
tion at  a  cricket  or  a  pigeon-match,  or  in  the  gath- 
ering of  a  steeple-chase.  The  nineteenth  century  is 
not  entirely  sceptical  on  the  head  of  friendship,  but 
fears  'tis  rare.  A  man  may  have  friends,  but  then, 
are  they  sincere  ones?  Do  not  they  abuse  you  behind 
your  back,  and  blackball  you  at  societies  where  they 
have  had  the  honour  to  propose  you  ?  It  might  philo- 
sophically be  suggested  that  it  is  more  agreeable  to  be 
abused  behind  one's  back  than  to  one's  face;  and,  as 
for  the  second  catastrophe,  it  should  not  be  forgotten 
that  if  the  sincere  friend  may  occasionally  put  a  suc- 
cessful veto  on  your  election,  he  is  always  ready  to 
propose  you  again.  Generally  speaking,  among  sen- 
sible persons  it  would  seem  that  a  rich  man  deems 
that  friend  a  sincere  one  who  does  not  want  to  bor- 
row his  money;  while,  among  the  less  favoured  with 
fortune's  gifts,  the  sincere  friend  is  generally  esteemed 
to  be  the  individual  who  is  ready  to  lend  it. 

As  we  must  not  compare  Tancred  and  Fakredeen 
to  Damon  and  Pythias,  and  as  we  cannot  easily  find 
in  Pall  Mall  or  Park  Lane  a  parallel  more  modish,  we 
must   be   content   to   say,  that   youth,  sympathy,  and 


TANCRED  225 

occasion  combined  to  create  between  them  that  inti- 
macy which  each  was  prompt  to  recognise  as  one  of 
the  principal  sources  of  his  happiness,  and  which  the 
young  Emir,  at  any  rate,  was  persuaded  must  be  as 
lasting  as  it  was  fervent  and  profound. 

Fakredeen  was  seen  to  great  advantage  among  his 
mountains.  He  was  an  object  of  universal  regard, 
and,  anxious  to  maintain  the  repute  of  which  he  was 
proud,  and  which  was  to  be  the  basis  of  his  future 
power,  it  seemed  that  he  was  always  in  a  gracious 
and  engaging  position.  Brilliant,  sumptuous,  and  hos- 
pitable, always  doing  something  kind,  or  saying 
something  that  pleased,  the  Emirs  and  Sheikhs,  both 
Maronite  and  Druse,  were  proud  of  the  princely  scion 
of  their  greatest  house,  and  hastened  to  repair  to  Ca- 
nobia,  where  they  were  welcome  to  ride  any  of  his 
two  hundred  steeds,  feast  on  his  flocks,  quaff  his 
golden  wine  of  Lebanon,  or  smoke  the  delicate  tobac- 
cos of  his  celebrated  slopes. 

As  for  Tancred,  his  life  was  novel,  interesting, 
and  exciting.  The  mountain  breezes  soon  restored 
his  habitual  health;  his  wound  entirely  healed;  each 
day  brought  new  scenes,  new  objects,  new  characters; 
and  there  was  ever  at  his  side  a  captivating  com- 
panion, who  lent  additional  interest  to  all  he  saw 
and  heard  by  perpetually  dwelling  on  the  great 
drama  which  they  were  preparing,  and  in  which  all 
these  personages  and  circumstances  were  to  perform 
their  part  and  advance  their  purpose. 

At  this  moment  Fakredeen  proposed  to  himself 
two  objects:  the  first  was,  to  bring  together  the 
principal  chiefs  of  the  mountain,  both  Maronite 
and  Druse,  and  virtually  to  carry  into  effect  at  Ca- 
nobia    that    reconciliation    between     the    two    races 

16    B.  D.— 15 


226  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

which  had  been  formally  effected  at  Beiroot,  in  the 
preceding  month  of  June,  by  the  diplomatic  inter- 
ference of  the  Great  Powers,  and  through  the  signa- 
ture of  certain  articles  of  peace  to  which  we  have 
alluded.  His  second  object  was  to  increase  his  al- 
ready considerable  influence  with  these  personages, 
by  exhibiting  to  them,  as  his  guest  and  familiar 
friend,  an  English  prince,  whose  presence  could  only 
be  accounted  for  by  duties  too  grave  for  ordinary 
envoys,  and  who  was  understood  to  represent,  in 
their  fullest  sense,  the  wealth  and  authority  of  the 
richest   and   most   potent  of  nations. 

The  credulous  air  of  Syria  was  favourable  to  the 
great  mystification  in  which  Lord  Montacute  was  an 
unconscious  agent.  It  was  as  fully  believed  in  the 
mountain,  by  all  the  Habeishes  and  the  Eldadahs,  the 
Kazins  and  the  Elvasuds,  the  Elheires,  and  the  Hai- 
dars,  great  Maronite  families,  as  well  as  by  the  Druse 
Djinblats  and  their  rivals,  the  House  of  Yezbeck,  or 
the  House  of  Talhook,  or  the  House  of  Abuneked, 
that  the  brother  of  the  Queen  of  England  was  a 
guest  at  Canobia  as  it  was  in  the  stony  wilderness  of 
Petraea.  Ahmet  Raslan  the  Druse  and  Butros  Kerau- 
ney  the  Maronite,  who  agreed  upon  no  other  point, 
were  resolved  on  this.  And  was  it  wonderful,  for 
Butros  had  already  received  privately  two  hundred 
muskets  since  the  arrival  of  Tancred,  and  Raslan  had 
been  promised  in  confidence  a  slice  of  the  impending 
English  loan  by  Fakredeen  ? 

The  extraordinary  attention,  almost  homage,  which 
the  Emir  paid  his  guest  entirely  authorised  these 
convictions,  although  they  could  justify  no  suspicion 
on  the  part  of  Tancred.  The  natural  simplicity  of 
his   manners,    indeed,  and    his   constitutional   reserve. 


TANCRED  227 

recoiled  from  the  state  and  ceremony  with  which  he 
found  himself  frequently  surrounded  and  too  often 
treated;  but  Fakredeen  peremptorily  stopped  his  re- 
monstrances by  assuring  him  that  it  was  the  custom 
of  the  country,  and  that  every  one  present  would  be 
offended  if  a  guest  of  distinction  were  not  entertained 
with  this  extreme  respect.  It  is  impossible  to  argue 
against  the  customs  of  a  country  with  which  you  are 
not  acquainted,  but  coming  home  one  day  from  a 
hawking  party,  a  large  assembly  of  the  most  influ- 
ential chieftains,  Fakredeen  himself  bounding  on  a 
Kochlani  steed,  and  arrayed  in  a  dress  that  would 
have  become  Solyman  the  Magnificent,  Tancred  about 
to  dismount,  the  Lord  of  Canobia  pushed  forward, 
and,  springing  from  his  saddle,  insisted  on  holding 
the  stirrup  of  Lord  Montacute. 

'I  cannot  permit  this,'  said  Tancred,  reddening, 
and  keeping  his  seat. 

'  If  you  do  not,  there  is  not  a  man  here  who  will 
not  take  it  as  a  personal  insult,' said  the  Emir,  speak- 
ing rapidly  between  his  teeth,  yet  affecting  to  smile. 
'  It  has  been  the  custom  of  the  mountain  for  more 
than  seven  hundred  years.' 

'Very  strange,'  thought  Tancred,  as  he  complied 
and  dismounted. 

All  Syria,  from  Gaza  to  the  Euphrates,  is  feudal. 
The  system,  generally  prevalent,  flourishes  in  the 
mountain  region  even  with  intenseness.  An  attempt 
to  destroy  feudalism  occasioned  the  revolt  against  the 
Egyptians  in  1840,  and  drove  Mehemet  Ali  from  the 
country  which  had  cost  him  so  much  blood  and 
treasure.  Every  disorder  that  has  subsequently  oc- 
curred in  Syria  since  the  Turkish  restoration  may 
be   traced    to    some    officious   interposition    or   hostile 


228  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

encroachment  in  this  respect.  The  lands  of  Lebanon 
are  divided  into  fifteen  Mookatas,  or  feudal  provinces, 
and  the  rights  of  the  mookatadgis,  or  landlords,  in 
these  provinces,  are  power  of  punishment  not  extend- 
ing to  death,  service  in  war,  and  labour  in  peace, 
and  the  collection  of  the  imperial  revenue  from  the 
population,  who  are  in  fact  their  vassals,  on  which 
they  receive  a  percentage  from  the  Porte.  The  ad- 
ministration of  police,  of  the  revenue,  and  indeed  the 
whole  internal  government  of  Lebanon,  are  in  the 
hands  of  the  mookatadgis,  or  rather  of  the  most 
powerful  individuals  of  this  class,  who  bear  the  titles 
of  Emirs  and  Sheikhs,  some  of  whom  are  proprietors 
to  a  very  great  extent,  and  many  of  whom,  in  point 
of  race  and  antiquity  of  established  family,  are  su- 
perior to  the  aristocracy  of  Europe. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  the  founders  of  this  privi- 
leged and  territorial  class,  whatever  may  be  the  pres- 
ent creeds  of  its  members,  Moslemin,  Maronite,  or 
Druse,  were  the  old  Arabian  conquerors  of  Syria. 
The  Turks,  conquerors  in  their  turn,  have  succeeded 
in  some  degree  in  the  plain  to  the  estates  and  im- 
munities of  the  followers  of  the  first  caliphs;  but  the 
Ottomans  never  substantially  prevailed  in  the  High- 
lands, and  their  authority  has  been  recognised  mainly 
by  management,  and  as  a  convenient  compromise 
amid  the  rivalries  of  so  many  local  ambitions. 

Always  conspicuous  among  the  great  families  of 
the  Lebanon,  during  the  last  century  and  a  half  pre- 
eminent, has  been  the  House  of  Shehaab,  possessing 
entirely  one  of  the  provinces,  and  widely  disseminated 
and  powerfully  endowed  in  several  of  the  others. 
Since  the  commencement  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
the  virtual  sovereignty  of  the  country  has  been  exer- 


TANCRED  229 

cised  by  a  prince  of  this  family,  under  the  title  of 
Chief  Emir.  The  chiefs  of  all  the  different  races  have 
kissed  the  hand  of  a  Shehaab;  he  had  the  power  of 
life  and  death,  could  proclaim  war  and  confer  honours. 
Of  all  this  family,  none  were  so  supreme  as  the  Emir 
Bescheer,  who  governed  Lebanon  during  the  Egyptian 
invasion,  and  to  whose  subdolous  career  and  its  conse- 
quences we  have  already  referred.  When  the  Turks 
triumphed  in  1840,  the  Emir  Bescheer  was  deposed, 
and  with  his  sons  sent  prisoner  to  Constantinople. 
The  Porte,  warned  at  that  time  by  the  too  easy  in- 
vasion of  Syria  and  the  imminent  peril  which  it  had 
escaped,  wished  itself  to  assume  the  government  of 
Lebanon,  and  to  garrison  the  passes  with  its  troops; 
but  the  Christian  Powers  would  not  consent  to  this 
proposition,  and  therefore  Kassim  Shehaab  was  called 
to  the  Chief  Emirate.  Acted  upon  by  the  patriarch 
of  the  Maronites,  Kassim,  who  was  a  Christian  She- 
haab, countenanced  the  attempts  of  his  holiness  to 
destroy  the  feudal  privileges  of  the  Druse  mookatad- 
gis,  while  those  of  the  Maronites  were  to  be  retained. 
This  produced  the  civil  war  of  1841  in  Lebanon, 
which  so  perplexed  and  scandalised  England,  and 
which  was  triumphantly  appealed  to  by  France  as 
indubitable  evidence  of  the  weakness  and  unpopularity 
of  the  Turks,  and  the  fruitlessness  of  our  previous  in- 
terference. The  Turks  had  as  little  to  do  with  it  as 
M.  Guizot  or  Lord  Palmerston;  but  so  limited  is  our 
knowledge  upon  these  subjects  that  the  cry  was  suc- 
cessful, and  many  who  had  warmly  supported  the 
English  minister  during  the  previous  year,  and  proba- 
bly in  equal  ignorance  of  the  real  merits  of  the  ques- 
tion, began  now  to  shake  their  heads  and  fear  that 
we  had  perhaps  been  too  precipitate. 


230  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

The  Porte  adroitly  took  advantage  of  the  general 
anarchy  to  enforce  the  expediency  of  its  original  prop- 
osition, to  which  the  Great  Powers,  however,  would 
not  assent.  Kassim  was  deposed,  after  a  reign  of  a 
few  months,  amid  burning  villages  and  their  slaugh- 
tered inhabitants;  and,  as  the  Porte  was  resolved  not 
to  try  another  Shehaab,  and  the  Great  Powers  were 
resolved  not  to  trust  the  Porte,  diplomacy  was  obliged 
again  to  interfere,  and  undertake  to  provide  Lebanon 
with  a  government. 

It  was  the  interest  of  two  parties,  whose  co- 
operation was  highly  essential  to  the  settlement  of 
this  question,  to  prevent  the  desired  adjustment,  and 
these  were  the  Turkish  government  and  the  family  of 
Shehaab  and  their  numerous  adherents.  Anarchy  was 
an  argument  in  the  mouth  of  each,  that  the  Lebanon 
must  be  governed  by  the  Porte,  or  that  there  never 
could  be  tranquillity  without  a  Shehaab  prince.  The 
Porte  in  general  contented  itself  with  being  passive 
and  watching  the  fray,  while  the  agents  of  the  Great 
Powers  planned  and  promulgated  their  scheme  of 
polity.  The  Shehaabs  were  more  active,  and  their 
efforts  were  greatly  assisted  by  the  European  project 
which  was  announced. 

The  principal  feature  of  this  administrative  design 
was  the  institution  of  two  governors  of  Lebanon, 
called  Caimacams,  one  of  whom  was  to  be  a  Maro- 
nite  and  govern  the  Maronites,  and  the  other  a  Druse 
and  govern  his  fellow-countrymen.  Superficially,  this 
seemed  fair  enough,  but  reduced  into  practice  the  ma- 
chinery would  not  work.  For  instance,  the  popula- 
tions in  many  places  were  blended.  Was  a  Druse 
Caimacam  to  govern  the  Christians  in  his  district? 
Was  the   government   of  the  two   Caimacams   to  be 


TANCRED  231 

sectarian  or  geographical?  Should  the  Christian  Cai- 
macam  govern  all  the  Christians,  and  the  Druse  Caima- 
cam  govern  all  the  Druses  of  the  Lebanon  ?  Or  should 
the  Christian  Caimacam  govern  the  Christian  Mook- 
atas,  as  well  as  such  Druses  as  lived  mixed  with  the 
Christians  in  the  Christian  Mookatas,  and  the  Druse 
Caimacam  in  the  Druse  country  exercise  the  same 
rights  ? 

Hence  arose  the  terms  of  mixed  Druses  and  mixed 
Christians;  mixed  Druses  meaning  Druses  living  in 
the  Christian  country,  and  mixed  Christians  those 
living  in  the  Druse  country.  Such  was  the  origin  of 
the  mixed  population  question,  which  entirely  upset 
the  project  of  Downing  Street;  happy  spot,  where 
they  draw  up  constitutions  for  Syria  and  treaties  for 
China  with  the  same  self-complacency  and  the  same 
success! 

Downing  Street  (1842)  decided  upon  the  sectarian 
government  of  the  Lebanon.  It  was  simple,  and 
probably  satisfactory,  to  Exeter  Hall;  but  Downing 
Street  was  quite  unaware,  or  had  quite  forgotten, 
that  the  feudal  system  prevailed  throughout  Lebanon. 
The  Christians  in  the  Druse  districts  were  vassals  of 
Druse  lords.  The  direct  rule  of  a  Christian  Caimacam 
was  an  infringement  on  all  the  feudal  rights  of  the 
Djinblats  and  Yezbecks,  of  the  Talhooks  and  the 
Abdel-Maleks.  It  would  be  equally  fatal  to  the  feudal 
rights  of  the  Christian  chiefs,  the  Kazins  and  the  El- 
dadahs,  the  Elheires  and  the  EI  Dahers,  as  regarded 
their  Druse  tenantry,  unless  the  impossible  plan  of 
the  patriarch  of  the  Maronites,  which  had  already 
produced  a  civil  war,  had  been  adopted.  Diplomacy, 
therefore,  seemed  on  the  point  of  at  length  succeed- 
ing  in    uniting  the  whole   population  of  Lebanon   in 


232  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

one  harmonious  action,  but  unfortunately  against  its 
own  project. 

The  Shehaab  party  availed  themselves  of  these 
circumstances  with  great  dexterity  and  vigour.  The 
party  was  powerful.  The  whole  of  the  Maronites,  a 
population  of  more  than  150,000,  were  enrolled  in 
their  ranks.  The  Emir  Bescheer  was  of  their  faith; 
so  was  the  unfortunate  Kassim,  True,  there  were 
several  Shehaab  princes  who  were  Moslemin,  but  they 
might  become  Christians,  and  they  were  not  Druses, 
at  least  only  two  or  three  of  them.  The  Maronite 
clergy  exercised  an  unquestioned  influence  over  their 
flocks.  It  was  powerfully  organised:  a  patriarch, 
numerous  monasteries,  nine  prelates,  and  an  active 
country  priesthood. 

Previously  to  the  civil  war  of  1841,  the  feeling  of 
the  Druses  had  been  universally  in  favour  of  the  She- 
haabs.  The  peril  in  which  feudalism  was  placed  re- 
vived their  ancient  sentiments,  A  Shehaab  committee 
was  appointed,  with  perpetual  sittings  at  Deir  el 
Kamar,  the  most  considerable  place  in  the  Lebanon; 
and,  although  it  was  chiefly  composed  of  Christians, 
there  were  several  Druses  at  least  in  correspondence 
with  it.  But  the  most  remarkable  institution  which 
occurred  about  this  time  (1844)  was  that  of  'Young 
Syria,'  It  flourishes:  in  every  town  and  village  of 
Lebanon  there  is  a  band  of  youth  who  acknowledge 
the  title,  and  who  profess  nationality  as  their  object, 
though,  behind  that  plea,  the  restoration  of  the  House 
of  Shehaab  generally  peeps  out. 

Downing  Street,  frightened,  gave  up  sectarian 
diplomacy,  and  announced  the  adoption  of  the  geo- 
graphical principle  of  government.  The  Druses,  now 
that   their   feudal   privileges    were    secured,    cooled   in 


TANCRED  232 

their  ardour  for  nationality.  The  Shehaabs,  on  the 
other  hand,  finding  that  the  Druses  were  not  to  be 
depended  on,  changed  their  note.  '  Is  it  to  be  toler- 
ated for  a  moment,  that  a  Christian  should  be  gov- 
erned by  a  Druse  ?  Were  it  a  Moslem,  one  might 
bear  it;  these  things  will  happen;  but  a  Druse,  who 
adores  a  golden  calf,  worshippers  of  Eblis!  One 
might  as  well  be  governed  by  a  Jew.' 

The  Maronite  patriarch  sent  200,000  piastres  to  his 
children  to  buy  arms;  the  superior  of  the  convent  of 
Maashmooshi  forwarded  little  less,  saying  it  was  much 
better  to  spend  their  treasure  in  helping  the  Christians 
than  in  keeping  it  to  be  plundered  by  the  Druses. 
Bishop  Tubia  gave  his  bond  for  a  round  sum,  but 
afterwards  recalled  it;  Bishop  Joseph  Djezini  came 
into  Sidon  with  his  pockets  full,  and  told  the  people 
that  a  prince  of  the  House  of  Shehaab  would  soon  be 
at  their  head,  but  explained  on  a  subsequent  occasion 
that  he  went  thither  merely  to  distribute  charity. 

In  this  state  of  affairs,  in  May,  1845,  the  civil  war 
broke  out.  The  Christians  attacked  the  Druses  in 
several  districts  on  the  same  day.  The  attack  was 
unprovoked,  and  eventually  unsuccessful.  Twenty 
villages  were  seen  burning  at  the  same  time  from 
Beiroot.  The  Druses  repulsed  the  Christians  and 
punished  them  sharply;  the  Turkish  troops,  at  the 
instigation  of  the  European  authorities,  marched  into 
the  mountain  and  vigorously  interfered.  The  Maronites 
did  not  show  as  much  courage  in  the  field  as  in  the 
standing  committee  at  Deir  el  Kamar,  but  several  of 
the  Shehaab  princes  who  headed  them,  especially  the 
Emir  Kais,  maintained  the  reputation  of  their  house 
and  displayed  a  brilliant  courage.  The  Emir  Fakre- 
deen    was    at    Canobia   at   the   time   of  the   outbreak, 


234  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

which,  as  it  often  happens,  though  not  unpremedi- 
tated, was  unexpected.  He  marched  to  the  scene  of 
action  at  the  head  of  his  troops,  and,  when  he  found 
that  Kais  had  been  outflanked  and  repulsed,  that  the 
Maronites  were  disheartened  in  proportion  to  their 
previous  vanity  and  insolence,  and  that  the  Turkish 
forces  had  interfered,  he  assumed  the  character  of 
mediator.  Taking  advantage  of  the  circumstances  and 
the  alarm  of  all  parties  at  the  conjuncture  and  its  yet 
unascertained  consequences,  he  obtained  for  the  Mar- 
onites a  long-promised  indemnity  from  the  Porte  for 
the  ravages  of  the  Druses  in  the  civil  war  of  1841, 
which  the  Druses  had  been  unable  to  pay,  on  condi- 
tion that  they  should  accept  the  geographical  scheme 
of  government;  and,  having  signed,  with  other  Emirs 
and  Sheikhs,  the  ten  articles  of  peace,  he  departed,  as 
we  have  seen,  on  that  visit  to  Jerusalem  which  ex- 
ercised such  control  over  the  career  of  Lord  Monta- 
cute,  and  led  to  such  strange  results  and  such  singular 
adventures. 


CHAPTER    XLIII. 

Festivities  in  Canobia, 

ALLOPED  up  the  winding  steep  of 
Canobia  the  Sheii<h  Said  Djinblat, 
one  of  the  most  popular  chieftains 
of  the  Druses;  amiable  and  brave, 
trustworthy  and  soft-mannered. 
Four  of  his  cousins  rode  after  him: 
he  came  from  his  castle  of  Mooktara,  which  was 
not  distant.  He  was  in  the  prime  of  manhood,  tall 
and  lithe;  enveloped  in  a  burnous  which  shrouded  his 
dark  eye,  his  white  turban,  and  his  gold-embroidered 
vests;  his  long  lance  was  couched  in  its  rest,  as  he 
galloped  up  the  winding  steep  of  Canobia. 

Came  slowly,  on  steeds  dark  as  night,  up  the 
winding  steep  of  Canobia,  with  a  company  of  twenty 
men  on  foot  armed  with  muskets  and  handjars,  the 
two  ferocious  brothers  Abuneked,  Nasif  and  Hamood. 
Pale  is  the  cheek  of  the  daughters  of  Maron  at 
the  fell  name  of  Abuneked.  The  Abunekeds  were  the 
Druse  lords  of  the  town  of  Deir  el  Kamar,  where  the 
majority  of  the  inhabitants  were  Christian.  When 
the  patriarch  tried  to  deprive  the  Druses  of  their  feu- 
dal rights,  the  Abunekeds  attacked  and  sacked  their  own 

(235) 


236  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

town  of  Deir  el  Kamar.  The  civil  war  being  termi- 
nated, and  it  being  agreed,  in  the  settlement  of  the 
indemnities  from  the  Druses  to  the  Maronites,  that 
all  plunder  still  in  possession  of  the  plunderers 
should  be  restored,  Nasif  Abuneked  said,  '  1  have  five 
hundred  silver  horns,  and  each  of  them  1  took  from 
the  head  of  a  Christian  woman.  Come  and  fetch 
them,' 

But  all  this  is  forgotten  now;  and  least  of  all 
should  it  be  remembered  by  the  meek-looking  indi- 
vidual who  is  at  this  moment  about  to  ascend  the 
winding  steep  of  Canobia.  Riding  on  a  mule,  clad 
in  a  coarse  brown  woollen  dress,  in  Italy  or  Spain 
we  should  esteem  him  a  smiple  Capuchin,  but  in 
truth  he  is  a  prelate,  and  a  prelate  of  great  power; 
Bishop  Nicodemus,  to  wit,  prime  councillor  of  the 
patriarch,  and  chief  prompter  of  those  measures  that 
occasioned  the  civil  war  of  184 1.  A  single  sacristan 
walks  behind  him,  his  only  retinue,  and  befitting  his 
limited  resources;  but  the  Maronite  prelate  is  recom- 
pensed by  universal  respect;  his  vanity  is  perpetually 
gratified,  and,  when  he  appears,  Sheikh  and  peasant 
are  alike  proud  to  kiss  the  hand  which  his  reverence 
is  ever  prompt  to  extend. 

Placed  on  a  more  eminent  stage,  and  called  upon 
to  control  larger  circumstances,  Bishop  Nicodemus 
might  have  rivalled  the  Bishop  of  Autun;  so  fertile 
was  he  in  resource,  and  so  intuitive  was  his  knowl- 
edge of  men.  As  it  was,  he  wasted  his  genius  in 
mountain  squabbles,  and  in  regulating  the  discipline 
of  his  little  church;  suspending  priests,  interdicting 
monks,  and  inflicting  public  penance  on  the  laity. 
He  rather  resembled  De  Retz  than  Talleyrand,  for  he 
was    naturally    turbulent    and    intriguing.      He    could 


TANCRED  237 

under  no  circumstances  let  well  alone.  He  was 
a  thorough  Syrian,  at  once  subtle  and  imagina- 
tive. Attached  to  the  House  of  Shehaab  by  policy, 
he  was  devoted  to  Fakredeen  as  much  by  sympathy 
as  interest,  and  had  contrived  the  secret  mission  of 
Archbishop  Murad  to  Europe,  which  had  so  much 
perplexed  M.  Guizot,  Lord  Cowley,  and  Lord  Aber- 
deen; and  which  finally,  by  the  intervention  of  the 
same  Bishop  Nicodemus,  Fakredeen  had  disowned. 

Came  caracoling  up  the  winding  steep  of  Canobia 
a  troop  of  horsemen,  showily  attired,  and  riding 
steeds  that  danced  in  the  sunny  air.  These  were  the 
princes  Kais  and  Abdullah  Shehaab,  and  Francis  El 
Kazin,  whom  the  Levantines  called  Caseno,  and  the 
principal  members  of  the  Young  Syria  party;  some  of 
them  beardless  Sheikhs,  but  all  choicely  mounted,  and 
each  holding  on  his  wrist  a  falcon;  for  this  was  the 
first  day  of  the  year  that  they  might  fly.  But  those 
who  cared  not  to  seek  a  quarry  in  the  partridge  or 
the  gazelle,  might  find  the  wild  boar  or  track  the 
panther  in  the  spacious  woods  of  Canobia. 

And  the  Druse  chief  of  the  House  of  Djezbek,  who 
for  five  hundred  years  had  never  yielded  precedence 
to  the  House  of  Djinblat,  and  Sheikh  Fahour  Kange, 
who  since  the  civil  war  had  never  smoked  a  pipe 
with  a  Maronite,  but  who  now  gave  the  salaam  of 
peace  to  the  crowds  of  Habeishs  and  Dahdahes  who 
passed  by;  and  Butros  Keramy,  the  nephew  of  the 
patriarch,  himself  a  great  Sheikh,  who  inhaled  his 
nargileh  as  he  rode,  and  who  looked  to  the  skies  and 
puffed  forth  his  smoke  whenever  he  met  a  son  of 
Eblis;  and  the  House  of  Talhook,  and  the  House  of 
Abdel-Malek  and  a  swarm  of  Elvasuds,  and  Elheires, 
and  El  Dahers.  Emirs  and  Sheikhs  on  their  bounding 


238  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

steeds,  and  musketeers  on  foot,  with  their  light  jack- 
ets and  bare  legs  and  wooden  sandals,  and  black 
slaves,  carrying  vases  and  tubes;  everywhere  a  bril- 
liant and  animated  multitude,  and  all  mounting  the 
winding  steep  of  Canobia. 

The  great  court  of  the  castle  was  crowded  with 
men  and  horses,  and  fifty  mouths  at  once  were  drink- 
ing at  the  central  basin;  the  arcades  were  full  of 
Sheikhs,  smoking  and  squatted  on  their  carpets,  which 
in  general  they  had  spread  in  this  locality  in  prefer- 
ence to  the  more  formal  saloons,  whose  splendid  di- 
vans rather  embarrassed  them;  though  even  these 
chambers  were  well  attended,  the  guests  principally 
seated  on  the  marble  floors  covered  with  their  small 
bright  carpets.  The  domain  immediately  around  the 
castle  was  also  crowded  with  human  beings.  The 
moment  anyone  arrived,  his  steed  was  stabled  or 
picketed;  his  attendants  spread  his  carpet,  sought  food 
for  him,  which  was  promptly  furnished,  with  coffee 
and  sherbets,  and  occasionally  wine;  and  when  he 
had  sufficiently  refreshed  himself,  he  lighted  his  nar- 
gileh.  Everywhere  there  was  a  murmur,  but  no  up- 
roar; a  stir,  but  no  tumult.  And  what  was  most 
remarkable  amid  these  spears  and  sabres,  these  muskets, 
handjars,  and  poniards,  was  the  sweet  and  perpetually 
recurring  Syrian  salutation  of  *  Peace.' 

Fakredeen,  moving  about  in  an  immense  turban,  of 
the  most  national  and  unreformed  style,  and  covered 
with  costly  shawls  and  arms  flaming  with  jewels, 
recognised  and  welcomed  everyone.  He  accosted 
Druse  and  Maronite  with  equal  cordiality,  talked  much 
with  Said  Djinblat,  whom  he  specially  wished  to 
gain,  and  lent  one  of  his  choicest  steeds  to  the 
Djezbek,  that    he    might   not   be    offended.     The  Tal- 


TANCRED 


^39 


hook  and  the  Abdel-Malek  could  not  be  jealous  of 
the  Habeish  and  the  Eldadah.  He  kissed  the  hand 
of  Bishop  Nicodemus,  but  then  he  sent  his  own 
nargileh  to  the  Emir  Ahmet  Raslan,  who  was  Caima- 
cam  of  the  Druses. 

In  this  strange  and  splendid  scene,  Tancred, 
dressed  in  a  velvet  shooting-jacket  built  in  St.  James' 
Street  and  a  wide-awake  which  had  been  purchased 
at  Bellamont  market,  and  leaning  on  a  rifle  which  was 
the  masterpiece  of  Purday,  was  not  perhaps  the  least 
interesting  personage.  The  Emirs  and  Sheikhs,  not- 
withstanding the  powers  of  dissimulation  for  which 
the  Orientals  are  renowned,  their  habits  of  self-restraint, 
and  their  rooted  principle  never  to  seem  surprised 
about  anything,  have  a  weakness  in  respect  to  arms. 
After  eyeing  Tancred  for  a  considerable  time  with 
imperturbable  countenances,  Francis  El  Kazin  sent  to 
Fakredeen  to  know  whether  the  English  prince  would 
favour  them  by  shooting  an  eagle.  This  broke  the 
ice,  and  Fakredeen  came,  and  soon  the  rifle  was  in 
the  hands  of  Francis  El  Kazin.  Sheikh  Said  Djinblat, 
who  would  have  died  rather  than  have  noticed  the 
rifle  in  the  hands  of  Tancred,  could  not  resist  ex- 
amining it  when  in  the  possession  of  a  brother 
Sheikh.  Kais  Shehaab,  several  Habeishes  and  Elda- 
dahs  gathered  round;  exclamations  of  wonder  and 
admiration  arose;  sundry  asseverations  that  God  was 
great  followed. 

Freeman  and  Trueman,  who  were  at  hand,  were 
summoned  to  show  their  lord's  double-barrelled  gun, 
and  his  pistols  with  hair-triggers.  This  they  did, 
with  that  stupid  composure  and  dogged  conceit  which 
distinguish  English  servants  in  situations  which  must 
elicit  from  all  other  persons  some  ebullition  of  feeling. 


24©  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

Exchanging  between  themselves  ghmces  of  contempt 
at  the  lords  of  Lebanon,  who  were  ignorant  of  what 
everybody  knows,  they  exhibited  the  arms  without 
the  slightest  interest  or  anxiety  to  make  the  Sheikhs 
comprehend  them;  till  Tancred,  mortified  at  their 
brutality,  himself  interfered,  and,  having  already  no 
inconsiderable  knowledge  of  the  language  of  the  coun- 
try, though,  from  his  reserve,  Fakredeen  little  sus- 
pected the  extent  of  his  acquirements,  explained 
felicitously  to  his  companions  the  process  of  the  arms; 
and  then  taking  his  rifle,  and  stepping  out  upon  the 
terrace,  he  levelled  his  piece  at  a  heron  which  was 
soaring  at  a  distance  of  upwards  of  one  hundred 
yards,  and  brought  the  bird  down  amid  the  applause 
both  of  Maronite  and  Druse. 

'He  is  sent  here,  1  understand,'  said  Butros  Ker- 
amy,  '  to  ascertain  for  the  Queen  of  the  English 
whether  the  country  is  in  favour  of  the  Shehaabs. 
Could  you  believe  it,  but  I  was  told  yesterday  at 
Deir  el  Kamar,  that  the  English  consul  has  persuaded 
the  Queen  that  even  the  patriarch  was  against  the 
Shehaabs?' 

'  Is  it  possible  ? '  said  Rafael  Farah,  a  Maronite  of 
the  House  of  Eldadah.  '  It  must  be  the  Druses  who 
circulate  these  enormous  falsehoods,' 

'Hush!'  said  Young  Syria,  in  the  shape  of  Francis 
El  Kazin,  'there  is  no  longer  Maronite  or  Druse:  we 
are  all  Syrians,  we  are  brothers.' 

'  Then  a  good  many  of  my  brothers  are  sons  of 
Ebhs,'  said  Butros  Keramy.  'I  hope  he  is  not  my 
father.' 

'  Truly,  I  should  like  to  see  the  mountain  without 
the  Maronite  nation,'  said  Rafael  Farah.  'That  would 
be  a  year  without  rain.' 


TANCRED  241 

'And  mighty  things  your  Maronite  nation  has 
done!'  rejoined  Francis  El  Kazin.  *  If  there  had  been 
the  Syrian  nation  instead  of  the  Maronite  nation,  and 
the  Druse  nation,  and  half  a  dozen  other  nations  be- 
sides, instead  of  being  conquered  by  Egypt  in  1832, 
we  should  have  conquered  Egypt  ourselves  long  ago, 
and  have  held  it  for  our  farm.  We  have  done  mighty 
things  truly  with  our  Maronite  nation!' 

'  To  hear  an  El  Kazin  speak  against  the  Maronite 
nation!'  exclaimed  Rafael  Farah,  with  a  look  of  hor- 
ror; 'a  nation  that  has  two  hundred  convents!' 

'And  a  patriarch,'  said  Butros  Keramy,  'very  much 
respected  even  by  the  Pope  of  Rome.' 

'And  who  were  disarmed  like  sheep,'  said  Fran- 
cis. 

'Not  because  we  were  beaten,'  said  Butros,  who 
was  brave  enough. 

'We  were  persuaded  to  that,'  said  Rafael. 

'By  our  monks,'  said  Francis;  'the  convents  you 
are  so  proud  of.' 

'They  were  deceived  by  sons  of  Eblis,'  said  Butros. 
'  1  never  gave  up  my  arms.  I  have  some  pieces  now, 
that,  although  they  are  not  as  fine  as  those  of  the 
English  prince,  could  pick  a  son  of  Eblis  off  behind 
a  rock,  whether  he  be  Egyptian  or  Druse.' 

'Hush!'  said  Francis  El  Kazin.  'You  love  our 
host,  Butros;  these  are  not  words  that  will  please 
him ' 

'Or  me,  my  children,'  said  Bishop  Nicodemus. 
'This  is  a  great  day  for  Syria!  to  find  the  chiefs  of 
both  nations  assembled  at  the  castle  of  a  Shehaab. 
Why  am  I  here  but  to  preach  peace  and  love  ?  And 
Butros  Keramy,  my  friend,  my  dearly  beloved  brother 
Butros,  if    you    wish    to    please    the    patriarch,    your 

10     B.  D.— 16 


242  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

uncle,  who  loves  you  so  well,  you  will  no  longer 
call  Druses  sons  of  Eblis.' 

'  What  are  we  to  call  them  ? '  asked  Rafael  Farah, 
pettishly. 

'Brothers,'  replied  Bishop  Nicodemus;  'misguided, 
but  still  brothers.  This  is  not  a  moment  for  brawls, 
when  the  great  Queen  of  the  English  has  sent  hither 
her  own  brother  to  witness  the  concord  of  the  moun- 
tain.* 

Now  arose  the  sound  of  tabors,  beaten  without 
any  attempt  at  a  tune,  but  with  unremitting  monot- 
ony, then  the  baying  of  many  hounds  more  distant. 
There  was  a  bustle.  Many  Sheikhs  slowly  rose;  their 
followers  rushed  about;  some  looked  at  their  musket 
locks,  some  poised  their  pikes  and  spears,  some  un- 
sheathed their  handjars,  examined  their  edge,  and 
then  returned  them  to  their  sheath.  Those  who  were 
in  the  interior  of  the  castle  came  crowding  into  the 
great  court,  which,  in  turn,  poured  forth  its  current 
of  population  into  the  table-land  about  the  castle. 
Here,  held  by  grooms,  or  picketed,  were  many  steeds. 
The  mares  of  the  Emir  Fakredeen  were  led  about  by 
his  black  slaves.  Many  of  the  Sheikhs,  mounted, 
prepared  for  the  pastime  that  awaited  them. 

There  was  to  be  a  grand  chase  in  the  oak  forest, 
through  part  of  which  Tancred  had  already  travelled, 
and  which  spread  over  a  portion  of  the  plain  and  the 
low  hilly  country  that  encompassed  it.  Three  parties, 
respectively  led  by  the  Emir  Fakredeen,  and  the 
Caimacams  of  the  two  nations,  were  to  penetrate  into 
this  forest  at  different  and  distant  points,  so  that  the 
sport  was  spread  over  a  surface  of  many  miles.  The 
heads  of  the  great  houses  of  both  nations  accompanied 
the  Emir  of  Canobia;  their  relatives  and  followers,  by 


TANCRED  243 

the  exertions  of  Francis  El  Kazin  and  Young  Syria, 
were  in  general  so  disturbed  that  the  Maronites  were 
under  the  command  of  the  Emir  Raslan,  the  Druse 
Caimacam,  while  the  Druses  followed  the  Emir  Hai- 
dar.  This  great  hunting  party  consisted  of  more  than 
eight  hundred  persons,  about  half  of  whom  were 
mounted,  but  all  were  armed;  even  those  who  held 
the  dogs  in  leash  were  entitled  to  join  in  the  sport 
with  the  same  freedom  as  the  proudest  Sheikh.  The 
three  leaders  having  mounted  and  bowed  gracefully  to 
each  other,  the  cavalcades  separated  and  descended 
into  the  plain.  The  moment  they  reached  the  level 
country,  the  horsemen  shouted  and  dispersed,  gallop- 
ing in  all  directions,  and  many  of  them  throwing  their 
spears;  but,  in  a  short  time,  they  had  collected  again 
under  their  respective  leaders,  and  the  three  distinct 
bodies,  each  a  moving  and  many-coloured  mass,  might 
be  observed  from  the  castled  heights,  each  instant  di- 
minishing in  size  and  lustre,  until  they  vanished  at 
different  points  in  the  distance,  and  were  lost  amid 
the  shades  of  the  forest. 

For  many  hours  throughout  this  region  nothing 
was  heard  but  the  firing  of  guns,  the  baying  of 
hounds,  the  shouting  of  men;  not  a  human  being  was 
visible,  except  some  groups  of  women  in  the  villages, 
with  veils  suspended  on  immense  silver  horns,  like 
our  female  headgear  of  the  middle  ages.  By-and-by, 
figures  were  seen  stealing  forth  from  the  forest,  men 
on  foot,  one  or  two,  then  larger  parties;  some  reposed 
on  the  plain,  some  returned  to  the  villages,  some  re- 
ascended  the  winding  steeps  of  Canobia.  The  firing, 
the  shouting,  the  baying  had  become  more  occasional. 
Now  a  wearied  horseman  picked  his  slow  way  over 
the  plain;  then  came   forth   a   brighter   company,  still 


244  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

bounding  along.  And  now  they  issued,  but  slowly 
and  in  small  parties,  from  various  and  opposite  quar- 
ters of  the  woodland.  A  great  detachment,  in  a  cer- 
tain order,  were  then  observed  to  cross  the  plain,  and 
approach  the  castle.  They  advanced  very  gradually, 
for  most  of  them  were  on  foot,  and  joining  together, 
evidently  carried  burdens;  they  were  preceded  and 
followed  by  a  guard  of  cavalry.  Soon  it  might  be 
perceived  that  the  produce  of  the  chase  was  arriving: 
twenty-five  wild  boars  carried  on  litters  of  green 
branches;  innumerable  gazelles  borne  by  their  victors; 
transfixed  by  four  spears,  and  carried  by  four  men,  a 
hyena. 

Not  very  long  after  this  caravan  had  reached  the 
castle,  the  firing,  which  had  died  away,  recommenced; 
the  sounds  were  near  at  hand;  there  was  a  volley, 
and  almost  simultaneously  there  issued  from  various 
parts  of  the  forest  the  great  body  of  the  hunt.  They 
maintained  no  order  on  their  return,  but  dispersed 
over  the  plain,  blending  together,  galloping  their 
steeds,  throwing  their  lances,  and  occasionally  firing 
a  shot.  Fakredeen  and  his  immediate  friends  rode  up 
to  the  Caimacam  of  the  Druses,  and  they  offered  each 
other  mutual  congratulations  on  the  sport  of  the 
morning.  They  waited  for  the  Caimacam  of  the 
Maronites,  who,  however,  did  not  long  detain  them; 
and,  when  he  appeared,  their  suites  joined,  and,  can- 
tering off  at  a  brisk  pace,  they  soon  mounted  in  com- 
pany the  winding  steeps  of  Canobia. 

The  kitchen  of  Canobia  was  on  a  great  scale, 
though  simple  as  it  was  vast.  It  was  formed  for  the 
occasion.  About  fifty  square  pits,  some  four  feet  in 
length,  and  about  half  as  deep,  had  been  dug  on  the 
table-land  in  the  vicinity  of  the  castle.     At  each  corner 


TANCRED  245 

of  each  pit  was  a  stake,  and  the  four  supported  a 
rustic  gridiron  of  green  wood,  suspended  over  each 
pit,  which  was  filled  with  charcoal,  and  which  yielded 
an  equal  and  continuous  heat  to  the  animal  reposing 
on  the  gridiron:  in  some  instances  a  wild  boar,  in 
others  a  sheep  —  occasionally  a  couple  of  gazelles. 
The  sheep  had  been  skinned,  for  there  had  been  time 
for  the  operation;  but  the  game  had  only  been  split 
open,  cleared  out,  and  laid  on  its  back,  with  its  feet 
tied  to  each  of  the  stakes,  so  as  to  retain  its  position. 
While  this  roasting  was  going  on,  they  filled  the 
stomachs  of  the  animals  with  lemons  gashed  with  their 
daggers,  and  bruised  pomegranates,  whose  fragrant 
juice,  uniting  with  the  bubbling  fat,  produced  an  aro- 
matic and  rosy  gravy.  The  huntsmen  were  the  cooks, 
but  the  greatest  order  was  preserved;  and  though  the 
Emirs  and  the  great  Sheikhs,  heads  of  houses,  retiring 
again  to  their  divans,  occupied  themselves  with  their 
nargilehs,  many  a  mookatadgi  mixed  with  the  servants 
and  the  slaves,  and  delighted  in  preparing  this  patri- 
archal banquet,  which  indeed  befitted  a  castle  and  a 
forest.  Within  the  walls  they  prepared  rice,  which 
they  piled  on  brazen  and  pewter  dishes,  boiled  gal- 
lons of  coffee,  and  stewed  the  liver  of  the  wild  boars 
and  the  gazelles  in  the  golden  wine  of  Lebanon. 

The  way  they  dined  was  this.  Fakredeen  had  his 
carpet  spread  on  the  marble  floor  of  his  principal  sa- 
loon, and  the  two  Caimacams,  Tancred  and  Bishop 
Nicodemus,  Said  Djinblat,  the  heads  of  the  Houses  of 
Djezbek,  Talhook,  and  Abdel-Malek,  Hamood  Abune- 
ked,  and  five  Maronite  chieftains  of  equal  considera- 
tion, the  Emirs  of  the  House  of  Shehaab,  the  Habeish, 
and  the  Eldadah,  were  invited  to  sit  with  him. 
Round  the   chamber  which   opened  to   the  air,  other 


246  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

chieftains  were  invited  to  spread  tiieir  carpets  also; 
the  centre  was  left  clear.  The  rest  of  the  Sheikhs 
and  mookatadgis  established  themselves  in  small  par- 
ties, grouped  in  the  same  fashion,  in  the  great  court 
and  under  the  arcades,  taking  care  to  leave  free 
egress  and  regress  to  the  fountain.  The  retainers 
feasted,  when  all  was  over,  in  the  open  air. 

Every  man  found  his  knife  in  his  girdle,  forks 
were  unknown.  Fakredeen  prided  himself  on  his 
French  porcelain,  which  the  Djinblats,  the  Talhooks, 
and  the  Abunekeds  glanced  at  very  queerly.  This 
European  luxury  was  confined  to  his  own  carpet. 
There  was,  however,  a  considerable  supply  of  Egyp- 
tian earthenware,  and  dishes  of  pewter  and  brass. 
The  retainers,  if  they  required  a  plate,  found  one  in 
the  large  flat  barley  cake  with  which  each  was  sup- 
plied. For  the  principal  guests  there  was  no  want  of 
coarse  goblets  of  Bohemian  glass;  delicious  water 
abounded  in  vases  of  porous  pottery,  which  might  be 
blended,  if  necessary,  with  the  red  or  white  wine  of 
the  mountain.  The  rice,  which  had  been  dressed 
with  a  savoury  sauce,  was  eaten  with  wooden  spoons 
by  those  who  were  supplied  with  these  instruments; 
but  in  general  the  guests  served  themselves  by  hand- 
fuls. 

Ten  men  brought  in  a  framework  of  oaken 
branches  placed  transversely,  then  covered  with  twigs, 
and  over  these,  and  concealing  everything,  a  bed, 
fully  an  inch  thick,  of  mulberry  leaves.  Upon  this 
fragrant  bier  reposed  a  wild  boar;  and  on  each  side 
of  him  reclined  a  gazelle.  Their  bodies  had  closed 
the  moment  their  feet  had  been  loosened  from  the 
stakes,  so  that  the  gravy  was  contained  within  them. 
It   required   a    most   skilful   carver    not   to    waste   this 


TANCRED  247 

precious  liquid.  The  chamber  was  filled  with  an  in- 
vigorating odour  as  the  practised  hand  of  Habas  of 
Deir  el  Kamar  proceeded  to  the  great  performance. 
His  instruments  were  a  silver  cup,  a  poniard,  and  a 
handjar.  Making  a  small  aperture  in  the  side  of  the 
animal,  he  adroitly  introduced  the  cup,  and  propor- 
tionately baled  out  the  gravy  to  a  group  of  plates  that 
were  extended  to  him;  then,  plunging  in  the  long 
poniard  on  which  he  rested,  he  made  an  incision 
with  the  keen  edge  and  broad  blade  of  the  handjar, 
and  sent  forth  slice  after  slice  of  white  fat  and  ruby 
flesh. 

The  same  ceremony  was  performing  in  the  other 
parts  of  the  castle.  Ten  of  the  pits  had  been  cleared 
of  their  burden  to  appease  the  first  cravings  of  the 
appetite  of  the  hunters.  The  fires  had  been  replen- 
ished, the  gridirons  again  covered,  and  such  a  supply 
kept  up  as  should  not  only  satisfy  the  chieftains,  but 
content  their  followers.  Tancred  could  not  refrain 
from  contrasting  the  silent,  business-like  way  in 
which  the  Shehaabs,  the  Talhooks,  the  Djinblats,  and 
the  Habeish  performed  the  great  operation  that  was 
going  on,  with  the  conversation  which  is  considered 
an  indispensable  accompaniment  of  a  dinner  in  Fran- 
guestan;  for  we  must  no  longer  presume  to  call 
Europe  by  its  beautiful  oriental  name  of  Christendom. 
The  Shehaabs,  the  Talhooks,  the  Djinblats,  and  the 
Habeish  were  sensible  men,  who  were  of  opinion 
that  if  you  want  to  talk  you  should  not  by  any 
means  eat,  since  from  such  an  attempt  at  a  united 
performance  it  generally  results  that  you  neither  con- 
verse nor  refresh  yourself  in  a  satisfactory  manner. 

There  can  be  no  question  that,  next  to  the  cor- 
roding  cares  of  Europeans,  principally  occasioned   by 


248  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

their  love  of  accumulating  money  which  they  never 
enjoy,  the  principal  cause  of  the  modern  disorder  of 
dyspepsia  prevalent  among  them  is  their  irrational 
habit  of  interfering  with  the  process  of  digestion  by 
torturing  attempts  at  repartee,  and  racking  their  brain 
at  a  moment  when  it  should  be  calm,  to  remind 
themselves  of  some  anecdote  so  appropriate  that  they 
have  forgotten  it.  It  has  been  supposed  that  the 
presence  of  women  at  our  banquets  has  occasioned 
this  fatal  and  inopportune  desire  to  shine;  and  an 
argument  has  been  founded  on  this  circumstance  in 
favour  of  their  exclusion  from  an  incident  which,  on 
the  whole,  has  a  tendency  to  impair  that  ideal  which 
they  should  always  study  and  cherish.  It  may  be 
urged  that  if  a  woman  eats  she  may  destroy  her 
spell;  and  that,  if  she  will  not  eat,  she  destroys  our 
dinner. 

Notwithstanding  all  this,  and  without  giving  any 
opinion  on  this  latter  point,  it  should  be  remembered 
that  at  dinners  strictly  male,  where  there  is  really  no 
excuse  for  anything  of  the  kind,  where,  if  you  are  a 
person  of  ascertained  position,  you  are  invited  for  that 
position  and  for  nothing  else,  and  where,  if  you  are 
not  a  person  of  ascertained  position,  the  more  agree- 
able you  make  yourself  the  more  you  will  be  hated, 
and  the  less  chance  you  will  have  of  being  asked 
there  again,  or  anywhere  else,  still  this  fatal  frenzy 
prevails;  and  individuals  are  found  who,  from  soup  to 
coffee,  from  egg  to  apple,  will  tell  anecdotes,  indulge 
in  jests,  or,  in  a  tone  of  levity  approaching  to  jest- 
ing, pour  forth  garrulous  secret  history  with  which 
everyone  is  acquainted,  and  never  say  a  single  thing 
which  is  new  that  is  not  coolly  invented  for  the  oc- 
casion. 


TANCRED  249 

The  princes  of  the  Houses  of  Shehaab,  Kais,  and 
Assaad,  and  Abdullah,  the  Habeish  and  the  Eldadah, 
the  great  Houses  of  the  Druses,  the  Djinblat  and  the 
Yezbek,  the  Abuneked,  the  Talhook,  and  the  Abdel- 
Malek,  were  not  of  this  school.  Silently,  determinedly, 
unceasing,  unsatiated,  they  proceeded  with  the  great 
enterprise  on  which  they  had  embarked.  If  the  two 
nations  were  indeed  to  be  united,  and  form  a  great 
whole  under  the  sceptre  of  a  Shehaab,  let  not  this 
banquet  pass  like  the  hypocritical  hospitality  of  ordi- 
nary life,  where  men  offer  what  they  desire  not  to  be 
accepted  by  those  who  have  no  wish  to  receive. 
This,  on  the  contrary,  was  a  real  repast,  a  thing  to 
be  remembered.  Practice  made  the  guests  accus- 
tomed to  the  porcelain  of  Paris  and  the  goblets  of 
Prague.  Many  was  the  goodly  slice  of  wild  boar, 
succeeded  by  the  rich  flesh  of  the  gazelle,  of  which 
they  disposed.  There  were  also  wood-pigeons, 
partridges,  which  the  falconers  had  brought  down, 
and  quails  from  the  wilderness.  At  length  they 
called  again  for  rice,  a  custom  which  intimated  that 
their  appetite  for  meat  was  satisfied,  and  immedi- 
ately Nubian  slaves  covered  them  with  towels  of 
fine  linen  fringed  with  gold,  and,  while  they  held 
their  hands  over  the  basin,  poured  sweet  waters  from 
the  ewer. 

In  the  meantime,  Butros  Keramy  opened  his  heart 
to  Rafael  Farah. 

'I  begin,'  said  Butros,  quaffing  a  cup  of  the  Vino 
d'Oro,   'to  believe  in  nationality.' 

'It  cannot  be  denied,'  said  Rafael  Farah,  judiciously 
shaking  his  head,  'that  the  two  nations  were  once 
under  the  same  prince.  If  the  great  powers  would 
agree  to   a  Shehaab,  and   we    could   sometimes   meet 


250  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

together  in  the  present  fashion,  there  is  no  saying, 
prejudices  might  wear  off,' 

'Shall  it  ever  be  said  that  I  am  of  the  same  nation 
as  Hamood  Abuneked  ? '  said  Butros. 

'Ah!  it  is  very  dreadful,'  said  Rafael;  'a  man  who 
has  burned  convents!' 

'And  who  has  five  hundred  Maronite  horns  in  his 
castle,'  said  Butros. 

'  But  suppose  he  restores  them  ? '  said  Francis  El 
Kazin. 

'That  would  make  a  difference,'  said  Rafael  Farah. 

'There  can  be  no  difference  while  he  lives,'  said 
Butros. 

'1  fear  'tis  an  affair  of  blood,'  said  Rafael  Farah. 

'Taking  horns  was  never  an  affair  of  blood,'  said 
Francis  El  Kazin. 

'What  should  be  an  affair  of  blood,'  said   Butros, 

'But  nothing  else  but  taking  horns  can  be  proved,' 
said  Francis  El  Kazin. 

'There  is  a  good  deal  in  that!'  said   Rafael  Farah. 

After  confectionery  which  had  been  prepared  by 
nuns,  and  strong  waters  which  had  been  distilled  by 
the  hands  of  priors,  the  chieftains  praised  God,  and 
rose,  and  took  their  seats  on  the  divan,  when  imme- 
diately advanced  a  crowd  of  slaves,  each  bearing  a 
nargileh,  which  they  presented  to  the  guests.  Then 
gradually  the  conversation  commenced.  It  was  en- 
tirely confined  to  the  exploits  of  the  day,  which  had 
been  rich  in  the  heroic  feats  of  forest  huntsmen. 
There  had  been  wild  boars,  too,  as  brave  as  their 
destroyers;  some  slight  wounds,  some  narrow  escapes. 
Sheikh  Said  Djinblat  inquired  of  Lord  Montacute 
whether  there  were  hyenas  in    England,  but  was  im- 


TANCRED  251 

mediately  answered  by  the  lively  and  well-informed 
Kais  Shehaab,  who  apprised  him  that  there  were  only 
lions  and  unicorns.  Bishop  Nicodemus,  who  watched 
the  current  of  observations,  began  telling  hunting 
stories  of  the  time  of  the  Emir  Bescheer,  when  that 
prince  resided  at  his  splendid  castle  of  Bteddeen,  near 
Deir  el  Kamar.  This  was  to  recall  the  days  when 
the  mountain  had  only  one  ruler,  and  that  ruler  a 
Shehaab,  and  when  the  Druse  lords  were  proud  to  be 
classed  among  his  most  faithful  subjects. 

In  the  meantime  smoking  had  commenced  through- 
out the  castle,  but  this  did  not  prevent  the  smokers 
from  drinking  raki  as  well  as  the  sober  juice  of 
Mocha.  Four  hundred  men,  armed  with  nargileh  or 
chibouque,  inhaling  and  puffing  with  that  ardour  and 
enjoyment  which  men,  after  a  hard  day's  hunting, 
and  a  repast  of  unusual  solidity,  can  alone  experi- 
ence! Without  the  walls,  almost  as  many  individ- 
uals were  feasting  in  the  open  air;  brandishing  their 
handjars  as  they  cut  up  the  huge  masses  of  meat 
before  them,  plunging  their  eager  hands  into  the 
enormous  dishes  of  rice,  and  slaking  their  thirst  by 
emptying  at  a  draught  a  vase  of  water,  which  they 
poured  aloft  as  the  Italians  would  a  flask  of  wine 
or  oil. 

'And  the  most  curious  thing,'  said  Freeman  to 
Trueman,  as  they  established  themselves  under  a  pine 
tree,  with  an  ample  portion  of  roast  meat,  and  armed 
with  their  traveling  knives  and  forks,  'and  the  most 
curious  thing  is,  that  they  say  these  people  are  Chris- 
tians! Who  ever  heard  of  Christians  wearing  tur- 
bans?' 

'Or  eating  without  knives  and  forks  .^'  added  True- 
man. 


252  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'  It  would  astonish  their  weak  minds  in  the  stew- 
ard's room  at  Bellamont,  if  they  could  see  all  this, 
John,'  said  Mr.  Freeman,  pensively.  'A  man  who 
travels  has  very  great  advantages.' 

'And  very  great  hardships  too,'  said  Trueman. 
'  I  don't  care  for  work,  but  I  do  like  to  have  my 
meals  regular.' 

'This  is  not  bad  picking,  though,'  said  Mr.  Free- 
man; 'they  call  it  gazelle,  which  I  suppose  is  the 
foreign  for  venison.' 

'If  you  called  this  venison  at  Bellamont,'  said 
Trueman,  'they  would  look  very  queer  in  the  stew- 
ard's room.' 

'Bellamont  is  Bellamont,  and  this  place  is  this 
place,  John,'  said  Mr.  Freeman.  'The  Hameer  is  a 
noble  gentleman,  every  inch  of  him,  and  I  am  very 
glad  my  lord  has  got  a  companion  of  his  own  kidney. 
It  is  much  better  than  monks  and  hermits,  and  low 
people  of  that  sort,  who  are  not  by  no  means  fit 
company  for  somebody  I  could  mention,  and  might 
turn  him  into  a  papist  into  the  bargain.' 

'That  would  be  a  bad  business,'  said  Trueman; 
'my  lady  could  never  abide  that.  It  would  be  better 
that  he  should  turn  Turk.' 

'1  am  not  sure  it  wouldn't,'  said  Mr.  Freeman. 
'It  would  be  in  a  manner  more  constitutional.  The 
Sultan  of  Turkey  may  send  an  Ambassador  to  our 
Queen,  but  the  Pope  of  Rome  may  not.' 

'I  should  not  like  to  turn  Turk,'  said  Trueman, 
very  thoughtfully. 

'1  know  what  you  are  thinking  of,  John,'  said 
Mr.  Freeman,  in  a  serious  tone.  '  You  are  thinking, 
if  anything  were  to  happen  to  either  of  us  in  this 
heathen  land,  where  we   should  get    Christian  burial.' 


TANCRED  253 

'Lord  love  you,  Mr.  Freeman,  no,  I  wasn't.  I  was 
thinking  of  a  glass  of  ale.' 

'Ah!'  sighed  Freeman,  'it  softens  the  heart  to 
think  of  such  things  away  from  home,  as  we  are. 
Do  you  know,  John,  there  are  times  when  I  feel 
very  queer,  there  are  indeed.  I  catched  myself  a 
singing  "Sweet  Home"  one  night,  among  those  sav- 
ages in  the  wilderness.  One  wants  consolation,  John, 
sometimes,  one  does,  indeed;  and,  for  my  part,  1  do 
miss  the  family  prayers  and  the  home-brewed.' 

As  the  twilight  died  away,  they  lighted  immense 
bonfires,  as  well  to  cheer  them  during  their  bivouac, 
as  to  deter  any  adventurous  panther,  stimulated  by 
the  savoury  odours,  or  hyena,  breathing  fraternal  re- 
venge, from  reconnoitring  their  encampment.  By  de- 
grees, however,  the  noise  of  the  revellers  without 
subsided,  and  at  length  died  away.  Having  satisfied 
their  hunger,  and  smoked  their  chibouques,  often 
made  from  the  branch  which  they  had  cut  since  their 
return  from  hunting,  with  the  bud  still  alive  upon  the 
fresh  green  tube,  they  wrapped  themselves  in  their 
cloaks  and  sheepskins,  and  sunk  into  a  deep  and 
well-earned  repose. 

Within,  the  Sheikhs  and  mookatadgis  gradually, 
by  no  means  simultaneously,  followed  their  example. 
Some,  taking  off  their  turbans  and  loosening  their 
girdles,  ensconced  themselves  under  the  arcades,  lying 
on  their  carpets,  and  covered  with  their  pelisses  and 
cloaks;  some  strolled  into  the  divaned  chambers, 
which  were  open  to  all,  and  more  comfortably  stowed 
themselves  upon  the  well-stuffed  cushions;  others, 
overcome  with  fatigue  and  their  revel,  were  lying  in 
deep  sleep,  outstretched  in  the  open  court,  and  pic- 
turesque in  the  blazing  moonlight. 


254  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

The  hunting  party  was  to  last  three  days,  and 
few  intended  to  leave  Canobia  on  the  morrow;  but  it 
must  not  be  supposed  that  the  guests  experienced 
any  very  unusual  hardships  in  what  the  reader  may 
consider  a  far  from  satisfactory  mode  of  passing  their 
night.  To  say  nothing  of  the  warm  and  benignant 
climate,  the  Easterns  have  not  the  custom  of  retiring  or 
rising  with  the  formality  of  the  Occidental  nations. 
They  take  their  sleep  when  they  require  it,  and  meet 
its  embrace  without  preparation.  One  cause  of  this 
difference  undoubtedly  is,  that  the  Orientals  do  not 
connect  the  business  of  the  toilet  with  that  of  rest. 
The  daily  bath,  with  its  elaborate  processes,  is  the 
spot  where  the  mind  ponders  on  the  colour  of  a  robe 
or  the  fashion  of  a  turban;  the  daily  bath,  which  is 
the  principal  incident  of  Oriental  habits,  and  which 
can  scarcely  be  said  to  exist  among  our  own. 

Fakredeen  had  yielded  even  his  own  chambers  to 
his  friends.  Every  divan  in  Canobia  was  open,  ex- 
cepting the  rooms  of  Tancred.  These  were  sacred, 
and  the  Emir  had  requested  his  friend  to  receive  him 
as  a  guest  during  the  festival,  and  apportion  him  one 
of  his  chambers.  The  head  of  the  House  of  Talhook 
was  asleep  with  the  tube  of  his  nargileh  in  his  mouth; 
the  Yezbek  had  unwound  his  turban,  cast  off  his 
sandals,  wrapped  himself  in  his  pelisses,  and  fairly 
turned  in;  Bishop  Nicodemus  was  kneeling  in  a 
corner  and  kissing  a  silver  cross;  and  Hamood  Abu- 
neked  had  rolled  himself  up  in  a  carpet,  and  was 
snoring  as  if  he  were  blowing  through  one  of  the 
horns  of  the  Maronites.  Fakredeen  shot  a  glance  at 
Tancred,  instantly  recognised.  Then,  rising  and  giv- 
ing the  salaam  of  peace  to  his  guests,  the  Emir  and 
his  English  friend  made  their  escape  down  a  corridor, 


TANCRED  255 

at  the  bottom  of  which  was  one  of  the  few  doors 
that  could  be  found  in  the  castle  of  Canobia.  Baroni 
received  them,  on  the  watch  lest  some  cruising  Sheikh 
should  appropriate  their  resting-place.  The  young 
moon,  almost  as  young  and  bright  as  it  was  two 
months  before  at  Gaza,  suffused  with  lustre  the 
beautiful  garden  of  fruit  and  flowers  without.  Under 
the  balcony,  Baroni  had  placed  a  divan  with  many 
cushions,  a  lamp  with  burning  coffee,  and  some  fresh 
nargilehs. 

'Thank  God,  we  are  alone!'  exclaimed  Fakredeen. 
'Tell  me,  my  Tancred,  what  do  you  think  of  it  all.?' 


CHAPTER   XLIV 


Fakredeen's  Debts. 

T  HAS  been  a  great  day,'  said  Tan- 
cred,   'not  to  be  forgotten.' 
'Yes;  but  what  do  you  think  of 
them  ?    Are    they   the    fellows    I 
described;   the    men    that    might 
conquer  the  world?' 
'To  conquer  the  world  depends  on  men   not   only 
being   good    soldiers,    but    being    animated    by    some 
sovereign  principle    that    nothing    can    resist,'    replied 
Tancred. 

'But  that  we  have  got,'  rejoined  Fakredeen. 
'  But  have  they  got  \t?' 
'We  can  give  it  to  them.' 

'  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that.  It  seems  to  me  that 
we  are  going  to  establish  a  theocratic  equality  by  the 
aid  of  the  feudal  system.' 

'  That  is  to  say,  their  present  system, '  replied  Fak- 
redeen. '  Islamism  was  propagated  by  men  who 
were  previously  idolaters,  and  our  principle  may  be 
established  by  those  whose  practice  at  the  present 
time  is  directly  opposed  to  it.' 

'  I  still  cling  to  my  first  idea  of  making  the  move- 
ment  from   the   desert,'    said   Tancred:    'the  Arabians 
(256) 


TANCRED  257 

are  entirely  unsophisticated;  they  are  now  as  they 
were  in  the  time  of  Mahomet,  of  Moses,  of  Abraham: 
a  sublime  devotion  is  natural  to  them,  and  equality, 
properly  developed,  is  in  fact  the  patriarchal  prin- 
ciple.' 

'But  these  are  Arabians,'  said  Fakredeen;  'I  am 
an  Arabian;  there  is  not  a  mookatadgi,  whatever  his 
present  creed,  who  does  not  come  from  Yemen,  or 
the  Hedjaz,  or  the  Nejid.' 

'That  is  a  great  qualification,'  said  Tancred,  mus- 
ingly. 

'And,  see  what  men  these  are!'  continued  Fak- 
redeen, with  great  animation.  '  Lebanon  can  send 
forth  more  than  fifty  thousand  well-armed,  and  yet 
let  enough  stay  at  home  to  guard  the  mulberry  trees 
and  the  women.  Then  you  can  keep  them  for  noth- 
ing; a  Bedouin  is  not  more  temperate  than  a  Druse, 
if  he  pleases:  he  will  get  through  a  campaign  on 
olives  and  cheese;  they  do  not  require  even  tents; 
they  bivouac  in  a  sheepskin.' 

'And  yet,'  said  Tancred,  'though  they  have  main- 
tained themselves,  they  have  done  nothing;  now,  the 
Arabs  have  always  succeeded.' 

'I  will  tell  you  how  that  is,'  said  Fakredeen.  'It 
is  very  true  that  we  have  not  done  much,  and  that, 
when  we  descended  into  the  plain,  as  we  did  in  '63, 
under  the  Emir  Yousef,  we  were  beat,  beaten  back 
even  by  the  Mutualis;  it  is  that  we  have  no  cavalry. 
They  have  always  contrived  to  enlist  the  great  tribes 
of  the  Syrian  desert  against  us,  as  for  instance,  under 
Daher,  of  whom  you  must  have  heard:  it  was  that 
which  has  prevented  our  development;  but  we  have 
always  maintained  ourselves.  Lebanon  is  the  key  of 
Syria,  and  the  country  was  never  unlocked  unless  we 


258  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

pleased.  But  this  difficulty  is  now  removed.  Through 
Amalek  we  shall  have  the  desert  on  our  side;  he  is 
omnipotent  in  the  Syrian  wilderness;  and  if  he  sends 
messengers  through  Petraea  to  Derayeh,  the  Nejid,  and 
through  the  Hedjaz,  to  Yemen  and  Oman,  we  could 
easily  get  a  cavalry  as  efficient  and  not  less  numerous 
than  our  foot.' 

'The  instruments  will  be  found,'  said  Tancred, 
'for  it  is  decreed  that  the  deed  should  be  done.  But 
•the  favour  of  Providence  does  not  exempt  man  from 
the  exercise  of  human  prudence.  On  the  contrary,  it 
is  an  agent  on  whose  co-operation  they  are  bound 
to  count.  I  should  like  to  see  something  of  the  great 
Syrian  cities.  I  should  like  also  to  see  Bagdad.  It 
appears  to  me,  at  the  first  glance,  that  the  whole 
country  to  the  Euphrates  might  be  conquered  in  a 
campaign;  but  then  I  want  to  know  how  far  artil- 
lery is  necessary,  whether  it  be  indispensable.  Then 
again,  the  Lesser  Asia;  we  should  never  lose  sight  of 
the  Lesser  Asia  as  the  principal  scene  of  our  move- 
ments; the  richest  regions  in  the  world,  almost  de- 
populated, and  a  position  from  which  we  might 
magnetise  Europe.  But  suppose  the  Turks,  through 
Lesser  Asia,  conquer  Lebanon,  while  we  are  overrun- 
ning the  Babylonian  and  Assyrian  monarchies?  That 
will  never  do.  I  see  your  strength  here  with  your 
own  people  and  the  Druses,  and  I  do  not  underrate 
their  qualities:  but  who  is  to  garrison  the  north  of 
Syria  ?  Who  is  to  keep  the  passes  of  the  North  ? 
What  population  have  you  to  depend  on  between 
Tripoli  and  Antioch,  or  between  Aleppo  and  Adanah? 
Of  all  this  I  know  nothing.' 

Fakredeen  had  entirely  imbibed  the  views  of  Tan- 
cred; he  was  sincere  in  his  professions,  fervent  in  his 


TANCRED  2^9 

faith.  A  great  feudal  proprietor,  he  was  prepared  to 
forsake  his  beautiful  castle,  his  farms  and  villages,  his 
vineyards,  and  mulberry  orchards,  and  forests  of  oaks, 
to  assist  in  establishing,  by  his  voice  and  his  sabre, 
a  new  social  system,  which  was  to  substitute  the 
principle  of  association  for  that  of  dependence  as  the 
foundation  of  the  Commonwealth,  under  the  sanction 
and  superintendence  of  the  God  of  Sinai  and  of  Cal- 
vary. True  it  was  that  the  young  Syrian  Emir  in- 
tended, that  among  the  consequences  of  the  impend- 
ing movement  should  be  his  enthronement  on  one  of 
the  royal  seats  of  Asia.  But  we  should  do  him  in- 
justice, were  we  to  convey  the  impression  that  his 
ardent  co-operation  with  Tancred  at  this  moment 
was  impelled  merely,  or  even  principally,  by  these 
coarsely  selfish  considerations.  Men  certainly  must 
be  governed,  whatever  the  principle  of  the  social 
system,  and  Fakredeen  felt  born  with  a  predisposition 
to  rule. 

But  greater  even  than  his  desire  for  empire  was 
his  thirst  for  action.  He  was  wearied  with  the  glit- 
tering cage  in  which  he  had  been  born.  He  panted 
for  a  wider  field  and  a  nobler  theatre,  interests  more 
vast  and  incidents  more  dazzling  and  comprehensive; 
he  wished  to  astonish  Europe  instead  of  Lebanon,  and 
to  use  his  genius  in  baffling  and  controlling  the 
thrones  and  dominations  of  the  world,  instead  of 
managing  the  simple  Sheikhs  and  Emirs  of  his  moun- 
tains. His  castle  and  fine  estates  were  no  sources 
of  satisfaction  to  him.  On  the  contrary,  he  viewed 
Canobia  with  disgust.  It  entailed  duties,  and  brought 
no  excitement.  He  was  seldom  at  home  and  only 
for  a  few  passing  days:  continued  residence  was  in- 
tolerable to  his   restless   spirit.     He  passed  his  life  in 


26o  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

perpetual  movement,  scudding  about  on  the  fleetest 
dromedaries,  and  galloping  over  the  deserts  on  steeds 
of  the  highest  race. 

Though  proud  of  his  ancient  house,  and  not  une- 
qual, when  necessary,  to  the  due  representation  of 
his  position,  unlike  the  Orientals  in  general,  he  dis- 
liked pomp,  and  shrank  from  the  ceremony  which 
awaited  him„  His  restless,  intriguing,  and  imagina- 
tive spirit  revelled  in  the  incognito.  He  was  perpet- 
ually in  masquerade;  a  merchant,  a  Mamlouk,  a  soldier 
of  fortune,  a  Tartar  messenger,  sometimes  a  pilgrim, 
sometimes  a  dervish,  always  in  pursuit  of  some  im- 
probable but  ingenious  object,  or  lost  in  the  mazes  of 
some  fantastic  plot.  He  enjoyed  moving  alone  with- 
out a  single  attendant;  and  seldom  in  his  mountains, 
he  was  perpetually  in  Egypt,  Bagdad,  Cyprus,  Smyrna, 
and  the  Syrian  cities.  He  sauntered  away  a  good 
deal  of  his  time  indeed  in  the  ports  and  towns  of  the 
coast,  looking  after  his  creditors;  but  this  was  not 
the  annoyance  to  him  which  it  would  be  to  most 
men. 

Fakredeen  was  fond  of  his  debts;  they  were  the 
source  indeed  of  his  only  real  excitement,  and  he 
was  grateful  to  them  for  their  stirring  powers.  The 
usurers  of  Syria  are  as  adroit  and  callous  as  those  of 
all  other  countries,  and  possess  no  doubt  all  those  re- 
pulsive qualities  which  are  the  consequence  of  an 
habitual  control  over  every  generous  emotion.  But, 
instead  of  viewing  them  with  feelings  of  vengeance 
or  abhorrence,  Fakredeen  studied  them  unceasingly 
with  a  fine  and  profound  investigation,  and  found  in 
their  society  a  deep  psychological  interest.  His  own 
rapacious  soul  delighted  to  struggle  with  their  rapine, 
and  it  charmed    him    to    baffle  with    his    artifice   their 


TANCRED  261 

fraudulent  dexterity.  He  loved  to  enter  their  houses 
with  his  glittering  eye  and  face  radiant  with  inno- 
cence, and,  when  things  were  at  the  very  worst 
and  they  remorseless,  to  succeed  in  circumventing 
them.  In  a  certain  sense,  and  to  a  certain  degree, 
they  were  all  his  victims.  True,  they  had  gorged 
upon  his  rents  and  menaced  his  domains;  but  they 
had  also  advanced  large  sums,  and  he  had  so  in- 
volved one  with  another  in  their  eager  appetite  to 
prey  upon  his  youth,  and  had  so  complicated  the 
financial  relations  of  the  Syrian  coast  in  his  own  re- 
spect, that  sometimes  they  tremblingly  calculated  that 
the  crash  of  Fakredeen  must  inevitably  be  the  signal 
of  a  general  catastrophe. 

Even  usurers  have  their  weak  side;  some  are  vain, 
some  envious;  Fakredeen  knew  how  to  titillate  their 
self-love,  or  when  to  give  them  the  opportunity  of 
immolating  a  rival.  Then  it  was,  when  he  had  baffled 
and  deluded  them,  or,  with  that  fatal  frankness  of 
which  he  sometimes  blushingly  boasted,  had  betrayed 
some  sacred  confidence  that  shook  the  credit  of  the 
whole  coast  from  Scanderoon  to  Gaza,  and  embroiled 
individuals  whose  existence  depended  on  their  mutual 
goodwill,  that,  laughing  like  one  of  the  blue-eyed 
hyenas  of  his  forests,  he  galloped  away  to  Canobia, 
and,  calling  for  his  nargileh,  mused  in  chuckling  cal- 
culation over  the  prodigious  sums  he  owed  to  them, 
formed  whimsical  and  airy  projects  for  his  quit- 
tance, or  delighted  himself  by  brooding  over  the 
memory  of  some  happy  expedient  or  some  daring 
feat  of  finance. 

'What  should  I  be  without  my  debts.?'  he  would 
sometimes  exclaim;  'dear  companions  of  my  life  that 
never  desert  me!     All  my  knowledge  of  human  nature 


262  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

is  owing  to  them:  it  is  in  managing  my  affairs  that  I 
have  sounded  the  depths  of  the  human  heart,  recog- 
nised all  the  combinations  of  human  character,  devel- 
oped my  own  powers,  and  mastered  the  resources  of 
others.  What  expedient  in  negotiation  is  unknown 
to  me  ?  What  degree  of  endurance  have  I  not  calcu- 
lated ?  What  play  of  the  countenance  have  I  not  ob- 
served ?  Yes,  among  my  creditors,  1  have  disciplined 
that  diplomatic  ability  that  shall  some  day  confound 
and  control  cabinets.  O,  my  debts,  I  feel  your  pres- 
ence like  that  of  guardian  angels!  If  I  be  lazy,  you 
prick  me  to  action;  if  elate,  you  subdue  me  to  re- 
flection; and  thus  it  is  that  you  alone  can  secure  that 
continuous  yet  controlled  energy  which  conquers  man- 
kind.' 

Notwithstanding  all  this,  Fakredeen  had  grown 
sometimes  a  little  wearied  even  of  the  choice  excite- 
ment of  pecuniary  embarrassment.  It  was  too  often 
the  same  story,  the  adventures  monotonous,  the  char- 
acters identical.  He  had  been  plundered  by  every 
usurer  in  the  Levant,  and  in  turn  had  taken  them  in. 
He  sometimes  delighted  his  imagination  by  the  idea 
of  making  them  disgorge;  that  is  to  say,  when  he 
had  established  that  supremacy  which  he  had  resolved 
sooner  or  later  to  attain.  Although  he  never  kept  an  ac- 
count, his  memory  was  so  faithful  that  he  knew  exactly 
the  amount  of  which  he  had  been  defrauded  by  every 
individual  with  whom  he  had  had  transactions.  He 
longed  to  mulct  them,  to  the  service  of  the  State, 
in  the  exact  amount  if  their  unhallowed  appropria- 
tions. He  was  too  good  a  statesman  ever  to  confis- 
cate; he  confined  himself  to  taxation.  Confiscation 
is    a   blunder  that  destroys  public  credit;   taxation,  on 


TANCRED  263 

the  contrary,  improves  it,  and  both  come  to  the  same 
thing. 

That  the  proud  soul  of  Tancred  of  Montacute,  with 
its  sublime  aspirations,  its  inexorable  purpose,  its  em- 
pyrean ambition,  should  find  a  votary  in  one  appar- 
ently so  whimsical,  so  worldly,  and  so  worthless, 
may  at  the  first  glance  seem  improbable;  yet  a  nearer 
and  finer  examination  may  induce  us  to  recognise  its 
likelihood.  Fakredeen  had  a  brilliant  imagination  and 
a  passionate  sensibility;  his  heart  was  controlled  by 
his  taste,  and,  when  that  was  pleased  and  satisfied, 
he  was  capable  of  profound  feeling  and  of  earnest 
conduct.  Moral  worth  had  no  abstract  charms  for 
him,  and  he  could  sympathise  with  a  dazzling  repro- 
bate; but  virtue  in  an  heroic  form,  lofty  principle,  and 
sovereign  duty  invested  with  all  the  attributes  calcu- 
lated to  captivate  his  rapid  and  refined  perception,  ex- 
ercised over  him  a  resistless  and  transcendent  spell. 
The  deep  and  disciplined  intelligence  of  Tancred, 
trained  in  all  the  philosophy  and  cultured  with  all  the 
knowledge  of  the  West,  acted  with  magnetic  power 
upon  a  consciousness  the  bright  vivacity  of  which 
was  only  equalled  by  its  virgin  ignorance  of  all  that 
books  can  teach,  and  of  those  great  conclusions  which 
the  studious  hour  can  alone  elaborate.  Fakredeen 
hung  upon  his  accents  like  a  bee,  while  Tancred 
poured  forth,  without  an  effort,  the  treasures  of  his 
stored  memory  and  long  musing  mind.  He  went  on, 
quite  unconscious  that  his  companion  was  devoid  of 
that  previous  knowledge,  which,  with  all  other  per- 
sons, would  have  been  a  preliminary  qualification  for 
a  profitable  comprehension  of  what  he  said.  Fakre- 
deen   gave    him    no    hint    of   this:    the   young   Emir 


264  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

trusted  to  his  quick  perception  to  sustain  him,  al- 
though his  literary  training  was  confined  to  an  Arabic 
grammar,  some  sentences  of  wise  men,  some  volumes 
of  poetry,  and  mainly  and  most  profitably  to  the 
clever  Courier  de  Smyrne,  and  occasionally  a  packet 
of  French  journals  which  he  obtained  from  a  Levan- 
tine consul. 

It  was  therefore  with  a  feeling  not  less  than  en- 
thusiastic that  Fakredeen  responded  to  the  suggestive 
influence  of  Tancred.  The  want  that  he  had  long 
suffered  from  was  supplied,  and  the  character  he  had 
long  mused  over  had  appeared.  Here  was  a  vast 
theory  to  be  reduced  to  practice,  and  a  commanding 
mind  to  give  the  leading  impulse.  However  imper- 
fect may  have  been  his  general  conception  of  the  ideas 
of  Tancred,  he  clearly  comprehended  that  their  fulfil- 
ment involved  his  two  great  objects,  change  and  ac- 
tion. Compared  with  these  attainments  on  a  great 
scale,  his  present  acquisition  and  position  sank  into 
nothingness.  A  futurity  consisting  of  a  Syrian  Emirate 
and  a  mountain  castle  figured  as  intolerable,  and  Fak- 
redeen, hoping  all  things  and  prepared  for  anything, 
flung  to  the  winds  all  consideration  for  his  existing 
ties,  whether  in  the  shape  of  domains  or  of  debts. 

The  imperturbable  repose,  the  grave  and  thought- 
ful daring,  with  which  Tancred  developed  his  revolu- 
tionary projects,  completed  the  power  with  which  he 
could  now  dispose  of  the  fate  of  the  young  Emir. 
Sometimes,  in  fluttering  moments  of  disordered  reverie, 
Fakredeen  had  indulged  in  dreams  of  what,  with  his 
present  companion,  it  appeared  was  to  be  the  ordi- 
nary business  of  their  lives,  and  which  he  discussed 
with    a    calm    precision    which    alone    half   convinced 


TANCRED 


265 


Fakredeen  of  their  feasibility.  It  was  not  for  an  im- 
passioned votary  to  intimate  a  difficulty;  but  if  Fakre- 
deen, to  elicit  an  opinion,  sometimes  hinted  an 
adverse  suggestion,  the  objection  was  swept  away  in 
an  instant  by  an  individual  whose  inflexible  will  was 
sustained  by  the  conviction  of  divine  favour. 


CHAPTER   XLV. 

The  People  of  Ansarey. 

YOU  know  anything   of  a  people 
in  the  north  of  this  country,  called 
the  Ansarey?'  inquired  Tancred  of 
Baroni. 

'No,  my  lord;  and  no  one  else. 
They  hold  the  mountainous  country 
about  Antioch,  and  will  let  no  one  enter  it;  a  very 
warlike  race;  they  beat  back  the  Egyptians;  but  Ibra- 
him Pasha  loaded  his  artillery  with  piastres  the  second 
time  he  attacked  them,  and  they  worked  very  well 
with  the  Pasha  after  that.' 
'Are  they  Moslemin?' 

'  It  is  very  easy  to  say  what  they  are  not,  and 
that  is  about  the  extent  of  any  knowledge  that  we 
have  of  them;  they  are  not  Moslemin,  they  are  not 
Christians,  they  are  not  Druses,  and  they  are  not 
Jews,  and  certainly  they  are  not  Guebres,  for  I  have 
spoken  of  them  to  the  Indians  at  Djedda,  who  are 
fire-worshippers,  and  they  do  not  in  any  degree  ac- 
knowledge them.' 

'And  what  is  their  race?     Are  they  Arabs?' 
'I  should  say  not,  my  lord;  for  the  only  one  I  ever 
saw  was  more  like  a  Greek  or   an    Armenian   than    a 
son  of  the  desert.' 
(266) 


TANCRED  267 

'You  have  seen  one  of  them?' 

'  It  was  at  Damascus:  there  was  a  city  brawl,  and 
M.  de  Sidonia  saved  the  life  of  a  man,  who  turned 
out  to  be  an  Ansarey,  though  disguised.  They  have 
secret  agents  at  most  of  the  Syrian  cities.  They 
speak  Arabic;  but  I  have  heard  M.  de  Sidonia  say 
they  have  also  a  language  of  their  own.' 

*I  wonder  he  did  not  visit  them.' 

'The  plague  raged  at  Aleppo  when  we  were  there, 
and  the  Ansarey  were  doubly  rigid  in  their  exclusion 
of  all  strangers  from  their  country.' 

'And  this  Ansarey  at  Damascus,  have  you  ever 
seen  anything  of  him  since.?' 

'Yes;  I  have  been  at  Damascus  several  times  since 
I  travelled  with  M.  de  Sidonia,  and  I  have  sometimes 
smoked  a  nargileh  with  this  man:  his  name  is  Dar- 
kush,  and  he  deals  in  drugs.' 

Now  this  was  the  reason  that  induced  Tancred  to 
inquire  of  Baroni  respecting  the  Ansarey.  The  day 
before,  which  was  the  third  day  of  the  great  hunting 
party  at  Canobia,  Fakredeen  and  Tancred  had  found 
themselves  alone  with  Hamood  Abuneked,  and  the 
lord  of  Canobia  had  thought  it  a  good  occasion  to 
sound  this  powerful  Sheikh  of  the  Druses.  Hamood 
was  rough,  but  frank  and  sincere.  He  was  no  enemy 
of  the  House  of  Shehaab;  but  the  Abunekeds  had 
suffered  during  the  wars  and  civil  conflicts  which 
had  of  late  years  prevailed  in  Lebanon,  and  he  was 
evidently  disinclined  to  mix  in  any  movement  which 
was  not  well  matured  and  highly  promising  of  suc- 
cess. Fakredeen,  of  course,  concealed  his  ulterior 
purpose  from  the  Druse,  who  associated  with  the 
idea  of  union  between  the  two  nations  merely  the 
institution    of   a    sole    government    under   one    head. 


268  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

and    that     head    a    Shehaab,     probably     dwelHng    at 
Canobia. 

'I  have  fought  by  the  side  of  the  Emir  Bescheer,' 
said  Hamood,  'and  would  he  were  in  his  palace  of 
Bteddeen  at  this  moment!  And  the  Abunekeds  rode 
with  the  Emir  Yousef  against  Djezzar.  It  is  not  the 
House  of  Abuneked  that  would  say  there  should  be 
two  weak  nations  when  there  might  be  one  strong 
one.  But  what  I  say  is  sealed  with  the  signet  of 
truth;  it  is  known  to  the  old,  and  it  is  remembered 
by  the  wise;  the  Emir  Bescheer  has  said  it  to  me  as 
many  times  as  there  are  oranges  on  that  tree,  and  the 
Emir  Yousef  has  said  it  to  my  father.  The  northern 
passes  are  not  guarded  by  Maronite  or  by  Druse.' 

'  And  as  long  as  they  are  not  guarded  by  us  ? '  said 
Fakredeen,  inquiringly. 

'We  may  have  a  sole  prince  and  a  single  govern- 
ment,' continued  Hamood,  'and  the  houses  of  the 
two  nations  may  be  brothers,  but  every  now  and  then 
the  Osmanli  will  enter  the  mountain,  and  we  shall 
eat  sand.' 

'  And  who  holds  the  northern  passes,  noble  Sheikh  ?' 
inquired  Tancred. 

'Truly,  I  believe,'  replied  Hamood,  'very  sons  of 
Eblis,  for  the  whole  of  that  country  is  in  the  hands 
of  Ansarey,  and  there  never  has  been  evil  in  the 
mountain  that  they  have  not  been  against  us.' 

'They  never  would  draw  with  the  Shehaabs,' said 
Fakredeen;  'and  I  have  heard  the  Emir  Bescheer  say 
that,  if  the  Ansarey  had  acted  with  him,  he  would 
have  baffled,  in  '40,  both  the  Porte  and  the  Pasha.' 

'It  was  the  same  in  the  time  of  the  Emir  Yousef,' 
said  Sheikh  Hamood.  'They  can  bring  twenty-five 
thousand  picked  men  into  the  plain.' 


TANCRED  269 

'And  I  suppose,  if  it  were  necessary,  would  not 
be  afraid  to  meet  the  Osmanli  in  Anatoly?'  said  Fak- 
redeen. 

'If  the  Turkmans  or  the  Kurds  would  join  them,' 
said  Sheikh  Hamood,  'there  is  nothing  to  prevent 
their  washing  their  horses'  feet  in  the  Bosphorus.' 

'It  is  strange,'  said  Fakredeen,  'but  frequently  as 
I  have  been  at  Aleppo  and  Antioch,  I  have  never 
been  in  their  country.  I  have  always  been  warned 
against  it,  always  kept  from  it,  which  indeed  ought 
to  have  prompted  my  earliest  efforts,  when  I  was  my 
own  master,  to  make  them  a  visit.  But,  I  know  not 
how  it  is,  there  are  some  prejudices  that  do  stick  to 
one.  I  have  a  prejudice  against  the  Ansarey,  a  sort 
of  fear,  a  kind  of  horror.  'Tis  vastly  absurd.  1  sup- 
pose my  nurse  instilled  it  into  me,  and  frightened  me 
with  them  when  I  would  not  sleep.  Besides,  I  had 
an  idea  that  they  particularly  hated  the  Shehaabs.  I 
recollect  so  well  the  Emir  Bescheer,  at  Bteddeen, 
bestowing  endless  imprecations  on  them.' 

'He  made  many  efforts  to  win  them,  though,'  said 
Sheikh  Hamood,   'and  so  did  the  Emir  Yousef.* 

'And  you  think  without  them,  noble  Sheikh,'  said 
Tancred,   'that  Syria  is  not  secure?' 

'  I  think,  with  them  and  peace  with  the  desert, 
that  Syria  might  defy  Turk  and  Egyptian.' 

'  And  carry  the  war  into  the  enemy's  quarters,  if 
necessary?'  said  Fakredeen. 

'  If  they  would  let  us  alone,  I  am  content  to  leave 
them,'  said  Hamood. 

'Hem!'  said  the  Emir  Fakredeen.  'Do  you  see 
that  gazelle,  noble  Sheikh?  How  she  bounds  along! 
What  if  we  follow  her,  and  the  pursuit  should  lead 
us  into  the  lands  of  the  Ansarey?' 


ayo  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'It  would  be  a  long  ride,'  said  Sheikh  Hamood. 
'Nor  should  1  care  much  to  trust  my  head  in  a  coun- 
try governed  by  a  woman.' 

'A  woman!'  exclaimed  Tancred  and  Fakredeen. 

'They  say  as  much,'  said  Sheikh  Hamood;  'per- 
haps it  is  only  a  coffee-house  tale.' 

'I  never  heard  it  before,'  said  Fakredeen.  'In  the 
time  of  my  uncle,  Elderidis  was  Sheikh.  I  have  heard 
indeed  that  the  Ansarey  worship  a  woman.' 

'Then  they  would  be  Christians,'  said  Sheikh 
Hamood,   'and  I  never  heard  that.' 


CHAPTER    XLVI. 


The  Laurellas. 

T  WAS  destined  that  Napoleon 
should  never  enter  Rome,  and  Ma- 
homet never  enter  Damascus.  What 
was  the  reason  of  this?  They 
were  not  uninterested  in  those 
cities  that  interest  all.  The  Em- 
peror selected  from  the  capital  of  the  Caesars  the  title 
of  his  son;  the  Prophet,  when  he  beheld  the  crown  of 
Syria,  exclaimed  that  it  was  too  delightful,  and  that  he 
must  reserve  his  paradise  for  another  world.  Buona- 
parte was  an  Italian,  and  must  have  often  yearned 
after  the  days  of  Rome  triumphant.  The  son  of  Ab- 
dallah  was  descended  from  the  patriarchs,  whose  pro- 
genitor had  been  moulded  out  of  the  red  clay  of  the 
most  ancient  city  in  the  world.  Absorbed  by  the 
passionate  pursuit  of  the  hour,  the  two  heroes  post- 
poned a  gratification  which  they  knew  how  to  appre- 
ciate, but  which,  with  all  their  success,  all  their 
power,  and  all  their  fame,  they  were  never  permitted 
to  indulge.  What  moral  is  to  be  drawn  from  this 
circumstance  ?  That  we  should  never  lose  an  occa- 
sion. Opportunity  is  more  powerful  even  than  con- 
querors and  prophets. 

(271) 


272  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

The  most  ancient  city  of  the  world  has  no  antiq- 
uity. This  flourishing  abode  is  older  than  many 
ruins,  yet  it  does  not  possess  one  single  memorial 
of  the  past.  In  vain  has  it  conquered  or  been 
conquered.  Not  a  trophy,  a  column,  or  an  arch, 
records  its  warlike  fortunes.  Temples  have  been 
raised  here  to  unknown  gods  and  to  revealed  Divin- 
ity; all  have  been  swept  away.  Not  the  trace  of  a 
palace  or  a  prison,  a  public  bath,  a  hall  of  justice, 
can  be  discovered  in  this  wonderful  city,  where 
everything  has  been  destroyed,  and  where  nothing 
has  decayed. 

Men  moralise  among  ruins,  or,  in  the  throng  and 
tumult  of  successful  cities,  recall  past  visions  of  urban 
desolation  for  prophetic  warning.  London  is  a  mod- 
ern Babylon;  Paris  has  aped  imperial  Rome,  and  may 
share  its  catastrophe.  But  what  do  the  sages  say  to 
Damascus?  It  had  municipal  rights  in  the  days  when 
God  conversed  with  Abraham.  Since  then,  the  kings 
of  the  great  monarchies  have  swept  over  it;  and  the 
Greek  and  the  Roman,  the  Tartar,  the  Arab,  and 
the  Turk  have  passed  through  its  walls;  yet  it  still 
exists  and  still  flourishes;  is  full  of  life,  wealth,  and 
enjoyment.  Here  is  a  city  that  has  quaffed  the  mag- 
ical elixir  and  secured  the  philosopher's  stone,  that 
is  always  young  and  always  rich.  As  yet,  the  disci- 
ples of  progress  have  not  been  able  exactly  to  match 
this  instance  of  Damascus,  but  it  is  said  that  they 
have  great  faith  in  the  future  of  Birkenhead. 

We  moralise  among  ruins:  it  is  always  when  the 
game  is  played  that  we  discover  the  cause  of  the  re- 
sult. It  is  a  fashion  intensely  European,  the  habit  of 
an  organisation  that,  having  little  imagination,  takes 
refuge    in    reason,  and    carefully   locks  the  door  when 


TANCRED  273 

the  steed  is  stolen.  A  community  has  crumbled  to 
pieces,  and  it  is  always  accounted  for  by  its  political 
forms,  or  its  religious  modes.  There  has  been  a  de- 
ficiency in  what  is  called  checks  in  the  machinery  of 
government;  the  definition  of  the  suffrage  has  not 
been  correct;  what  is  styled  responsibility  has,  by 
some  means  or  other,  not  answered;  or,  on  the  other 
hand,  people  have  believed  too  much  or  too  little  in 
a  future  state,  have  been  too  much  engrossed  by  the 
present,  or  too  much  absorbed  in  that  which  was  to 
come.  But  there  is  not  a  form  of  government  which 
Damascus  has  not  experienced,  excepting  the  repre- 
sentative, and  not  a  creed  which  it  has  not  acknowl- 
edged, excepting  the  Protestant.  Yet,  deprived  of  the 
only  rule  and  the  only  religion  that  are  right,  it  is 
still  justly  described  by  the  Arabian  poets  as  a  pearl 
surrounded  by  emeralds. 

Yes,  the  rivers  of  Damascus  still  run  and  revel  within 
and  without  the  walls,  of  which  the  steward  of 
Sheikh  Abraham  was  a  citizen.  They  have  encom- 
passed them  with  gardens,  and  filled  them  with  foun- 
tains. They  gleam  amid  their  groves  of  fruit,  wind 
through  their  vivid  meads,  sparkle  among  perpetual 
flowers,  gush  from  the  walls,  bubble  in  the  courtyards, 
dance  and  carol  in  the  streets:  everywhere  their  joyous 
voices,  everywhere  their  glancing  forms,  filling  the 
whole  world  around  with  freshness,  and  brilliancy, 
and  fragrance,  and  life.  One  might  fancy,  as  we 
track  them  in  their  dazzling  course,  or  suddenly  mak- 
ing their  appearance  in  every  spot  and  in  every  scene, 
that  they  were  the  guardian  spirits  of  the  city.  You 
have  explained  them,  says  the  utilitarian,  the  age  and 
flourishing  fortunes  of  Damascus:  they  arise  from  its 
advantageous  situation;  it  is  well  supplied  with  water. 

16    B.  D.-18 


274  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

Is  it  better  supplied  thian  the  ruins  of  contiguous  re~ 
gions?  Did  the  Nile  save  Thebes?  Did  the  Tigris 
preserve  Nineveh?  Did  the  Euphrates  secure  Baby- 
lon? 

Our  scene  lies  in  a  chamber  vast  and  gorgeous. 
The  reader  must  imagine  a  hall,  its  form  that  of  a 
rather  long  square,  but  perfectly  proportioned.  Its 
coved  roof,  glowing  with  golden  and  scarlet  tints, 
is  highly  carved  in  the  manner  of  the  Saracens,  such 
as  we  may  observe  in  the  palaces  of  Moorish  Spain 
and  in  the  Necropolis  of  the  Mamlouk  Sultans  at 
Cairo,  deep  recesses  of  honeycomb  work,  with  every 
now  and  then  pendants  of  daring  grace  hanging  like 
stalactites  from  some  sparry  cavern.  This  roof  is  sup- 
ported by  columns  of  white  marble,  fashioned  in  the 
shape  of  palm  trees,  the  work  of  Italian  artists,  and 
which  forms  arcades  around  the  chamber.  Beneath 
these  arcades  runs  a  noble  divan  of  green  and  silver 
silk,  and  the  silken  panels  of  the  arabesque  walls  have 
been  covered  with  subjects  of  human  interest  by  the 
finest  artists  of  Munich.  The  marble  floor,  with  its 
rich  mosaics,  was  also  the  contribution  of  Italian  ge- 
nius, though  it  was  difficult  at  the  present  moment 
to  trace  its  varied,  graceful,  and  brilliant  designs,  so 
many  were  the  sumptuous  carpets,  the  couches,  sofas, 
and  cushions  that  were  spread  about  it.  There  were 
indeed  throughout  the  chamber  many  indications  of 
furniture,  which  are  far  from  usual  even  among  the 
wealthiest  and  most  refined  Orientals:  Indian  tables, 
vases  of  china,  and  baskets  of  agate  and  porcelain 
filled  with  flowers.  From  one  side,  the  large  Sara- 
cenic windows  of  this  saloon,  which  were  not  glazed, 
but  covered  only  when  required  by  curtains  of  green 
and  silver  silk,  now  drawn  aside,  looked  on  a  garden; 


TANCRED  275 

vistas  of  quivering  trees,  broad  parterres  of  flowers, 
and  everywhere  the  gleam  of  glittering  fountains, 
which  owned,  however,  fealty  to  the  superior  stream 
that  bubbled  in  the  centre  of  the  saloon,  where  four 
negroes,  carved  in  black  marble,  poured  forth  its  re- 
freshing waters  from  huge  shells  of  pearl,  into  the 
vast  circle  of  a  jasper  basin. 

At  this  moment  the  chamber  was  enlivened  by  the 
presence  of  many  individuals.  Most  of  these  were 
guests;  one  was  the  master  of  the  columns  and  the 
fountains;  a  man  much  above  the  middle  height, 
though  as  well  proportioned  as  his  sumptuous  hall; 
admirably  handsome,  for  beauty  and  benevolence 
blended  in  the  majestic  countenance  of  Adam  Besso. 
To-day  his  Syrian  robes  were  not  unworthy  of  his 
palace;  the  cream-white  shawl  that  encircled  his  brow 
with  its  ample  folds  was  so  fine  that  the  merchant 
who  brought  it  to  him  carried  it  over  the  ocean  and 
the  desert  in  the  hollow  shell  of  a  pomegranate.  In 
his  girdle  rested  a  handjar,  the  sheath  of  which  was 
of  a  rare  and  vivid  enamel,  and  the  hilt  entirely  of 
brilliants. 

A  slender  man  of  middle  size,  who,  as  he  stood 
by  Besso,  had  a  diminutive  appearance,  was  in  earnest 
conversation  with  his  host.  This  personage  was 
adorned  with  more  than  one  order,  and  dressed  in 
the  Frank  uniform  of  one  of  the  Great  Powers,  though 
his  head  was  shaven,  for  he  wore  a  tarboush  or  red 
cap,  although  no  turban.  This  gentleman  was  Signor 
Elias  de  Laurella,  a  wealthy  Hebrew  merchant  at 
Damascus,  and  Austrian  consul-general  ad  honorem; 
a  great  man,  almost  as  celebrated  for  his  diplomatic 
as  for  his  mercantile  abilities;  a  gentleman  who  un- 
derstood the  Eastern  question;   looked  up  to  for  that, 


276  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

but   still    more,  in   that   he  was  the  father  of  the  two 
prettiest  girls  in  the  Levant. 

The  Mesdemoiselles  de  Laurella,  Therese  and 
Sophonisbe,  had  just  completed  their  education, 
partly  at  Smyrna,  the  last  year  at  Marseilles.  This 
had  quite  turned  their  heads;  they  had  come  back 
with  a  contempt  for  Syria,  the  bitterness  of  which 
was  only  veiled  by  the  high  style  of  European  non- 
chalance, of  which  they  had  a  supreme  command, 
and  which  is,  perhaps,  our  only  match  for  Eastern 
repose.  The  Mesdemoiselles  de  Laurella  were  highly 
accomplished,  could  sing  quite  ravishingly,  paint  fruits 
and  flowers,  and  drop  to  each  other,  before  surround- 
ing savages,  mysterious  allusions  to  feats  in  ball- 
rooms, which,  alas!  no  longer  could  be  achieved. 
They  signified,  and  in  some  degree  solaced,  their  in- 
tense disgust  at  their  present  position  by  a  haughty 
and  amusingly  impassable  demeanour,  which  meant 
to  convey  their  superiority  to  all  surrounding  circum- 
stances. One  of  their  favourite  modes  of  asserting 
this  pre-eminence  was  wearing  the  Frank  dress,  which 
their  father  only  did  officially,  and  which  no  female 
member  of  their  family  had  ever  assumed,  though 
Damascus  swarmed  with  Laurellas.  Nothing  in  the 
dreams  of  Madame  Carson,  or  Madame  Camille,  or 
Madame  Devey,  nothing  in  the  blazoned  pages  of  the 
Almanachs  des  Dames  and  Belle  Assemblee,  ever  ap- 
proached the  Mdlles.  Laurella,  on  a  day  of  festival. 
It  was  the  acme.  Nothing  could  be  conceived  beyond 
it;  nobody  could  equal  it.  It  was  taste  exaggerated, 
if  that  be  possible;  fashion  baffling  pursuit,  if  that  be 
permitted.  It  was  a  union  of  the  highest  moral  and 
material  qualities;  the  most  sublime  contempt  and  the 
stiffest   cambric.     Figure   to   yourself,    in   such   habili- 


TANCRED  277 

ments,  two  girls,  of  the  same  features,  the  same  form, 
the  same  size,  but  of  difTerent  colour:  a  nose  turned 
up,  but  choicely  moulded,  large  eyes,  and  richly 
fringed;  fine  hair,  beautiful  lips  and  teeth,  but  the 
upper  lip  and  the  cheek  bones  rather  too  long  and 
high,  and  the  general  expression  of  the  countenance, 
when  not  affected,  more  sprightly  than  intelligent. 
Therese  was  a  brunette,  but  her  eye  wanted  softness 
as  much  as  the  blue  orb  of  the  brilliant  Sophonisbe. 
Nature  and  Art  had  combined  to  produce  their  figures, 
and  it  was  only  the  united  effort  of  two  such  first- 
rate  powers  that  could  have  created  anything  so  ad- 
mirable. 

This  was  the  first  visit  of  the  Mesdemoiselles  Lau- 
rella  to  the  family  of  Besso,  for  they  had  only  re- 
turned from  Marseilles  at  the  beginning  of  the  year, 
and  their  host  had  not  resided  at  Damascus  until  the 
summer  was  much  advanced.  Of  course  they  were 
well  acquainted  by  reputation  with  the  great  He- 
brew house  of  which  the  lord  of  the  mansion  was 
the  chief.  They  had  been  brought  up  to  esteem  it 
the  main  strength  and  ornament  of  their  race  and  re- 
ligion. But  the  Mesdemoiselles  Laurella  were  ashamed 
of  their  race,  and  not  fanatically  devoted  to  their  re- 
ligion, which  might  be  true,  but  certainly  was  not 
fashionable.  Therese,  who  was  of  a  less  sanguineous 
temperament  than  her  sister,  affected  despair  and  un- 
utterable humiliation,  which  permitted  her  to  say  be- 
fore her  own  people  a  thousand  disagreeable  things 
with  an  air  of  artless  frankness.  The  animated  Soph- 
onisbe, on  the  contrary,  was  always  combating  prej- 
udice, felt  persuaded  that  the  Jews  would  not  be  so 
much  disliked  if  they  were  better  known;  that  all 
they  had  to  do  was  to  imitate   as    closely  as   possible 


278  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

the  habits  and  customs  of  the  nation  among  whom 
they  chanced  to  Hve;  and  she  really  did  believe  that 
eventually,  such  was  the  progressive  spirit  of  the  age, 
a  difference  in  religion  would  cease  to  be  regarded, 
and  that  a  respectable  Hebrew,  particularly  if  well 
dressed  and  well  mannered,  might  be  able  to  pass 
through  society  without  being  discovered,  or  at  least 
noticed.  Consummation  of  the  destiny  of  the  favour- 
ite people  of  the  Creator  of  the  universe! 

Notwithstanding  their  practised  nonchalance,  the 
Mesdemoiselles  Laurella  were  a  little  subdued  when 
they  entered  the  palace  of  Besso,  still  more  so  when 
they  were  presented  to  its  master,  whose  manner, 
void  of  all  art,  yet  invested  with  a  natural  dignity, 
asserted  in  an  instant  its  superiority.  Eva,  whom 
they  saw  for  the  first  time,  received  them  like  a 
queen,  and  in  a  dress  which  offered  as  complete  a 
contrast  to  their  modish  attire  as  the  beauty  of  her 
sublime  countenance  presented  to  their  pretty  and 
sparkling  visages. 

Madame  Laurella,  the  mother  of  these  young  ladies, 
would  in  Europe  have  been  still  styled  young.  She 
was  a  Smyrniote,  and  had  been  a  celebrated  beauty. 
The  rose  had  since  then  too  richly  expanded,  but 
even  now,  with  her  dark  eyelash  charged  with 
yamusk,  her  cheek  touched  with  rouge,  and  her 
fingers  tipped  with  henna,  her  still  fine  hair  exag- 
gerated by  art  or  screened  by  her  jewelled  turban, 
she  would  have  been  a  striking  personage,  even  if  it 
had  not  been  for  the  blaze  of  jewels  with  which  she 
was  suffused  and  environed.  The  existence  of  this 
lady  was  concentred  in  her  precious  gems.  An  ex- 
treme susceptibility  on  this  head  is  very  prevalent 
among  the  ladies  of  the  Levant,  and   the   quantity  of 


TANCRED  279 

jewels  that  they  accumulate  far  exceeds  the  general 
belief.  Madame  Laurella  was  without  a  rival  in  this 
respect,  and  resolved  to  maintain  her  throne;  dia- 
monds alone  did  not  satisfy  her;  immense  emeralds, 
rubies  as  big  as  pigeons'  eggs,  prodigious  ropes  of 
pearls,  were  studded  and  wound  about  every  part  of 
her  rich  robes.  Every  finger  glittered,  and  bracelets 
flashed  beneath  her  hanging  sleeves.  She  sat  in 
silent  splendour  on  a  divan,  now  and  then  proudly 
moving  a  fan  of  feathers,  lost  in  criticism  of  the 
jewels  of  her  friends,  and  in  contemplation  of  her 
own. 

A  young  man,  tall  and  well-looking,  dressed  as 
an  Oriental,  but  with  an  affected,  jerking  air,  more 
French  than  Syrian,  moved  jauntily  about  the  room, 
speaking  to  several  persons  for  a  short  time,  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders  and  uttering  commonplaces  as  if 
they  were  poignant  originalities.  This  was  Hillel 
Besso,  the  eldest  son  of  the  Besso  of  Aleppo,  and  the 
intended  husband  of  Eva.  Hillel,  too,  had  seen 
the  world,  passed  a  season  at  Pera,  where  he 
had  worn  the  Frank  dress,  and,  introduced  into  the 
circles  by  the  lady  of  the  Austrian  Internuncio, 
had  found  success  and  enjoyed  himself.  He  had 
not,  however,  returned  to  Syria  with  any  of  the  dis- 
gust shared  by  the  Mesdemoiselles  Laurella.  Hillel 
was  neither  ashamed  of  his  race  nor  his  religion:  on 
the  contrary,  he  was  perfectly  satisfied  with  this  life, 
with  the  family  of  Besso  in  general,  and  with  himself 
particularly.  Hillel  was  a  little  philosophical,  had 
read  Voltaire,  and,  free  from  prejudices,  conceived 
himself  capable  of  forming  correct  opinions.  He  lis- 
tened smiling  and  in  silence  to  Eva  asserting  the 
splendour   and   superiority  of  their   race,  and   sighing 


28o  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

for  the  restoration  of  their  national  glory,  and  then 
would  say,  in  a  whisper  to  a  friend,  and  with  a 
glance  of  epigrammatic  airiness,  '  For  my  part,  I  am 
not  so  sure  that  we  were  ever  better  off  than  we 
are.' 

He  stopped  and  conversed  with  Therese  Laurella, 
who  at  first  was  unbending,  but  when  she  found  that 
he  was  a  Besso,  and  had  listened  to  one  or  two  an- 
ecdotes which  indicated  personal  acquaintance  not 
only  with  ambassadors  but  with  ambassadors'  ladies, 
she  began  to  relax.  In  general,  however,  the  rest  of 
the  ladies  did  not  speak,  or  made  only  observations 
to  each  other  in  a  hushed  voice.  Conversation  is  not 
the  accomplishment  of  these  climes  and  circles.  They 
seemed  content  to  show  their  jewels  to  their  neigh- 
bours. There  was  a  very  fat  lady,  of  prodigious  size, 
the  wife  of  Signor  Yacoub  Picholoroni,  who  was  also 
a  consul,  but  not  a  consul-general  in  honorem.  She 
looked  like  a  huge  Chinese  idol;  a  perpetual  smile 
played  upon  her  immense  good-natured  cheeks,  and 
her  little  black  eyes  twinkled  with  continuous  satis- 
faction. There  were  the  Mourad  Farhis  and  the  Nas- 
sim  Farhis.  There  were  Moses  Laurella  and  his  wife, 
who  shone  with  the  reflected  splendour  of  the  great 
Laurellas,  but  who  were  really  very  nice  people;  sen- 
sible and  most  obliging,  as  all  travellers  must  have 
found  them.  Moses  Laurella  was  vice-consul  to  his 
brother.  The  Farhis  had  no  diplomatic  lustre,  but 
they  were  great  merchants,  and  worked  with  the 
House  of  Besso  in  all  their  enterprises.  They  had 
married  two  sisters,  who  were  also  their  cousins. 
Madame  Mourad  Farhi  was  in  the  zenith  of  her  re- 
nowned beauty;  in  the  gorgeous  Smyrniote  style,  bril- 
liant   yet    languid,    like   a   panther    basking    in    the 


TANCRED  281 

sunshine.  Her  sister  also  had  a  rich  countenance, 
and  a  figure  like  a  palm  tree,  while  her  fine  brow 
beamed  alike  with  intelligence  and  beauty.  Madame 
Nassim  was  highly  cultured,  enthusiastic  for  her  race, 
and  proud  of  the  friendship  of  Eva,  of  which  she  was 
worthy. 

There  were  also  playing  about  the  room  three  or 
four  children  of  such  dazzling  beauty  and  such  ineffa- 
ble grace  that  no  pen  can  picture  their  seraphic 
glances  or  gestures  of  airy  frolic.  Sometimes  serious, 
from  exhaustion  not  from  thought;  sometimes  wild 
with  the  witchery  of  infant  riot;  a  laughing  girl  with 
hair  almost  touching  the  ground,  and  large  grey  eyes 
bedewed  with  lustrous  mischief,  tumbles  over  an 
urchin  who  rises  doubtful  whether  to  scream  or  shout; 
sometimes  they  pull  the  robe  of  Besso  while  he  talks, 
who  goes  on,  as  if  unconscious  of  the  interruption; 
sometimes  they  rush  up  to  their  mother  or  Eva  for 
an  embrace;  sometimes  they  run  up  to  the  fat  lady, 
look  with  wondering  gravity  in  her  face,  and  then, 
bursting  into  laughter,  scud  away.  These  are  the 
children  of  a  sister  of  Hillel  Besso,  brought  to  Da- 
mascus for  change  of  air.  Their  mother  is  also  here, 
sitting  at  the  side  of  Eva:  a  soft  and  pensive  counte- 
nance, watching  the  children  with  her  intelligent  blue 
eyes,  or  beckoning  to  them  with  a  beautiful  hand. 

The  men  in  general  remained  on  their  legs  apart, 
conversing  as  if  they  were  on  the  Bourse. 

Now  entered,  from  halls  beyond  of  less  dimen- 
sions, but  all  decorated  with  similar  splendour,  a 
train  of  servants,  two  of  whom  carried  between  them 
a  large  broad  basket  of  silver  filigree,  filled  with 
branches  of  the  palm  tree  entwined  with  myrtle, 
while    another  bore   a    golden    basket   of  a   different 


282  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

shape,  and  which  was  filled  with  citrons  just  gath- 
ered. These  they  handed  to  the  guests,  and  each 
guest  took  a  branch  with  the  right  hand  and  a  citron 
with  the  left.  The  conversation  of  Besso  with  Elias 
Laurella  had  been  broken  by  their  entrance,  and  a 
few  minutes  afterwards,  the  master  of  the  house, 
looking  about,  held  up  his  branch,  shook  it  with  a 
rustling  sound,  and  immediately  Eva  was  at  his  side. 

The  daughter  of  Besso  wore  a  vest  of  white  silk, 
fitting  close  to  her  shape  and  descending  to  her 
knees;  it  was  buttoned  with  large  diamonds  and  re- 
strained by  a  girdle  of  pearls;  anklets  of  brilliants 
peeped  also,  every  now  and  then,  from  beneath  her 
large  Mamlouk  trousers  of  rose-coloured  silk  that  fell 
over  her  slippers,  powdered  with  diamonds.  Over 
her  vest  she  wore  the  Syrian  jacket,  made  of  cherry- 
coloured  velvet,  its  open  arms  and  back  richly  em- 
broidered, though  these  were  now  much  concealed  by 
her  outer  pelisse,  a  brocade  of  India,  massy  with  gold, 
and  yet  relieved  from  heaviness  by  the  brilliancy  of 
its  light  blue  tint  and  the  dazzling  fantasy  of  its  pat- 
tern. This  was  loosely  bound  round  her  waist  by  a 
Moorish  scarf  of  the  colour  of  a  blood-red  orange, 
and  bordered  with  a  broad  fringe  of  precious  stones. 
Her  head-dress  was  of  the  same  fashion  as  when  we 
first  met  her  in  the  kiosk  of  Bethany,  except  that,  on 
this  occasion,  her  Syrian  cap  on  the  back  of  her  head 
was  covered  only  with  diamonds,  and  only  with  dia- 
monds was  braided  her  long  dark  hair. 

'They  will  never  come,'  said  Besso  to  his  daugh- 
ter.     '  It  was  one  of  his  freaks.      We  will  not  wait.' 

'\  am  sure,  my  father,  they  will  come,'  said  Eva, 
earnestly.  And  indeed,  at  this  very  moment,  as  she 
stood    at    his    side,    holding  in    one    hand    her    palm 


TANCRED 


283 


branch,  which  was  reposing  on  her  bosom,  and  in  the 
other  her  fresh  citron,  the  servants  appeared  again, 
ushering  in  two  guests  who  had  just  arrived.  One 
was  quite  a  stranger,  a  young  man  dressed  in  the 
European  fashion;  the  other  was  recognised  at  once 
by  all  present  as  the  Emir  of  Canobia. 


CHAPTER   XLVII. 


The  Feast  of  Tabernacles. 

VA  had  withdrawn  from  her  father 
to  her  former  remote  position,  the 
moment  that  she  had  recognised 
the  two  friends,  and  was,  there- 
fore, not  in  hearing  when  her  father 
received  them,  and  said,  '  Welcome, 
noble  stranger!  the  noble  Emir  here,  to  whom  a 
thousand  welcomes,  told  me  that  you  would  not  be 
averse  from  joining  a  festival  of  my  people.' 

'  I  would  seize  any  opportunity  to  pay  my  re- 
spects to  you,'  replied  Tancred;  'but  this  occasion  is 
most  agreeable  to  me.' 

'And  when,  noble  traveller,  did  you  arrive  at  Esh 
Sham  ?' 

'But  this  morning;  we  were  last  from  Hasbeya.' 
Tancred  then  inquired  after  Eva,  and  Besso  led  him 
to  his  daughter. 

In  the  meantime  the  arrival 
made  a  considerable  sensation  in 
cially  with  the  Mesdemoiselles 
prince  of  the  Lebanon,  whatever 
distinguished  and  agreeable  accession  to  their  circle 
but  in  Tancred  they  recognised  a  being  at  once  civi 
(284) 


of  the  new  guests 
the  chamber,  espe- 
Laurella.  A  young 
his   religion,  was   a 


TANCRED  285 

Used  and  fashionable,  a  Christian  who  could  dance  the 
polka.  Refreshing  as  springs  in  the  desert  to  their 
long  languishing  eyes  were  the  sight  of  his  white 
cravat  and  his  boots  of  Parisian  polish. 

'It  is  one  of  our  great  national  festivals,'  said  Eva, 
slightly  waving  her  palm  branch;  'the  celebration  of 
the  Hebrew  vintage,  the  Feast  of  Tabernacles.' 

The  vineyards  of  Israel  have  ceased  to  exist,  but 
the  eternal  law  enjoins  the  children  of  Israel  still  to 
celebrate  the  vintage.  A  race  that  persist  in  celebra- 
ting their  vintage,  although  they  have  no  fruits  to 
gather,  will  regain  their  vineyards.  What  sublime  in- 
exorability in  the  law!  But  what  indomitable  spirit 
in  the  people! 

It  is  easy  for  the  happier  Sephardim,  the  Hebrews 
who  have  never  quitted  the  sunny  regions  that  are 
laved  by  the  Midland  Ocean;  it  is  easy  for  them, 
though  they  have  lost  their  heritage,  to  sympathise, 
in  their  beautiful  Asian  cities  or  in  their  Moorish  and 
Arabian  gardens,  with  the  graceful  rights  that  are,  at 
least,  an  homage  to  a  benignant  nature.  But  picture 
to  yourself  the  child  of  Israel  in  the  dingy  suburb  or 
the  squalid  quarter  of  some  bleak  northern  town, 
where  there  is  never  a  sun  that  can  at  any  rate  ripen 
grapes.  Yet  he  must  celebrate  the  vintage  of  purple 
Palestine!  The  law  has  told  him,  though  a  denizen 
in  an  icy  clime,  that  he  must  dwell  for  seven  days  in 
a  bower,  and  that  he  must  build  it  of  the  boughs  of 
thick  trees;  and  the  Rabbins  have  told  him  that  these 
thick  trees  are  the  palm,  the  myrtle,  and  the  weep- 
ing willow.  Even  Sarmatia  may  furnish  a  weeping 
willow.  The  law  has  told  him  that  he  must  pluck 
the  fruit  of  goodly  trees,  and  the  Rabbins  have  ex- 
plained that   goodly  fruit  on  this  occasion  is   confined 


286  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

to  the  citron.  Perhaps,  in  his  despair,  he  is  obliged 
to  fly  to  the  candied  delicacies  of  the  grocer.  His 
mercantile  connections  will  enable  him,  often  at  con- 
siderable cost,  to  procure  some  palm  leaves  from  Ca- 
naan, which  he  may  wave  in  his  synagogue  while  he 
exclaims,  as  the  crowd  did  when  the  Divine  descend- 
ant of  David  entered  Jerusalem,  *  Hosanna  in  the 
highest! ' 

There  is  something  profoundly  interesting  in  this 
devoted  observance  of  Oriental  customs  in  the  heart 
of  our  Saxon  and  Sclavonian  cities;  in  these  descend- 
ants of  the  Bedouins,  who  conquered  Canaan  more 
than  three  thousand  years  ago,  still  celebrating  that 
success  which  secured  their  forefathers,  for  the  first 
time,  grapes  and  wine. 

Conceive  a  being  born  and  bred  in  the  Judenstrasse 
of  Hamburg  or  Frankfort,  or  rather  in  the  purlieus  of 
our  Houndsditch  or  Minories,  born  to  hereditary  in- 
sult, without  any  education,  apparently  without  a  cir- 
cumstance that  can  develop  the  slightest  taste,  or 
cherish  the  least  sentiment  for  the  beautiful,  living 
amid  fogs  and  filth,  never  treated  with  kindness,  sel- 
dom with  justice,  occupied  with  the  meanest,  if  not 
the  vilest,  toil,  bargaining  for  frippery,  speculating  in 
usury,  existing  for  ever  under  the  concurrent  influence 
of  degrading  causes  which  would  have  worn  out, 
long  ago,  any  race  that  was  not  of  the  unmixed 
blood  of  Caucasus,  and  did  not  adhere  to  the  laws  of 
Moses;  conceive  such  a  being,  an  object  to  you  of 
prejudice,  dislike,  disgust,  perhaps  hatred.  The  season 
arrives,  and  the  mind  and  heart  of  that  being  are 
filled  with  images  and  passions  that  have  been  ranked 
in  all  ages  among  the  most  beautiful  and  the  most 
genial  of  human  experience;    filled  with  a  subject  the 


TANCRED  287 

most  vivid,  the  most  graceful,  the  most  joyous,  and 
the  most  exuberant;  a  subject  which  has  inspired 
poets,  and  which  has  made  gods;  the  harvest  of  the 
grape  in  the  native  regions  of  the  Vine. 

He  rises  in  the  morning,  goes  early  to  some  White- 
chapel  market,  purchases  some  willow  boughs  for 
which  he  has  previously  given  a  commission,  and 
which  are  brought,  probably,  from  one  of  the  neigh- 
bouring rivers  of  Essex,  hastens  home,  cleans  out  the 
yard  of  his  miserable  tenement,  builds  his  bower, 
decks  it,  even  profusely,  with  the  finest  flowers  and 
fruits  that  he  can  procure,  the  myrtle  and  the  citron 
never  forgotten,  and  hangs  its  roof  with  variegated 
lamps.  After  the  service  of  his  synagogue,  he  sups 
late  with  his  wife  and  his  children  in  the  open  air, 
as  if  he  were  in  the  pleasant  villages  of  Galilee,  be- 
neath its  sweet  and  starry  sky. 

Perhaps,  as  he  is  giving  the  Keedush,  the  Hebrew 
blessing  to  the  Hebrew  meal,  breaking  and  distribu- 
ting the  bread,  and  sanctifying,  with  a  preliminary 
prayer,  the  goblet  of  wine  he  holds,  the  very  cere- 
mony which  the  Divine  Prince  of  Israel,  nearly  two 
thousand  years  ago,  adopted  at  the  most  memorable 
of  all  repasts,  and  eternally  invested  with  eucharistic 
grace;  or,  perhaps,  as  he  is  offering  up  the  peculiar 
thanksgiving  of  the  Feast  of  Tabernacles,  praising 
Jehovah  for  the  vintage  which  his  children  may  no 
longer  cull,  but  also  for  His  promise  that  they  may 
some  day  again  enjoy  it,  and  his  wife  and  his  chil- 
dren are  joining  in  a  pious  Hosanna,  that  is,  Save  us! 
a  party  of  Anglo-Saxons,  very  respectable  men,  ten- 
pounders,  a  little  elevated  it  may  be,  though  certainly 
not  in  honour  of  the  vintage,  pass  the  house,  and 
words  like  these  are  heard: 


288  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'I  say,  Buggins,  what's  that  row?' 

*Oh!  it's  those  cursed  Jews!  we've  a  lot  of  'em 
here.  It  is  one  of  their  horrible  feasts.  The  Lord 
Mayor  ought  to  interfere.  However,  things  are  not 
as  bad  as  they  used  to  be:  they  used  always  to  cru- 
cify little  boys  at  these  hullabaloos,  but  now  they  only 
eat  sausages  made  of  stinking  pork.' 

'To  be  sure,'  replies  his  companion,  'we  all  make 
progress.' 

In  the  meantime,  a  burst  of  music  sounds  from 
the  gardens  of  Besso  of  Damascus.  He  advances,  and 
invites  Tancred  and  the  Emir  to  follow  him,  and, 
without  any  order  or  courtesy  to  the  softer  sex,  who, 
on  the  contrary,  follow  in  the  rear,  the  whole  com- 
pany step  out  of  the  Saracenic  windows  into  the  gar- 
dens. The  mansion  of  Besso,  which  was  of  great 
extent,  appeared  to  be  built  in  their  midst.  No  other 
roof  or  building  was  in  any  direction  visible,  yet  the 
house  was  truly  in  the  middle  of  the  city,  and  the 
umbrageous  plane  trees  alone  produced  that  illimita- 
ble air  which  is  always  so  pleasing  and  effective. 
The  house,  though  lofty  for  an  eastern  mansion,  was 
only  one  story  in  height,  yet  its  front  was  covered 
with  an  external  and  double  staircase.  This,  after  a 
promenade  in  the  garden,  the  guests  approached  and 
mounted.  It  led  to  the  roof  or  terrace  of  the  house, 
which  was  of  great  size,  an  oblong  square,  and  which 
again  was  a  garden.  Myrtle  trees  of  a  considerable 
height,  and  fragrant  with  many  flowers,  were  ar- 
ranged in  close  order  along  the  four  sides  of  this 
roof,  forming  a  barrier  which  no  eye  from  the  city 
beneath  or  any  neighbouring  terrace  could  penetrate. 
This  verdant  bulwark,  however,  opened  at  each  cor- 
ner of  the  roof,  which  was  occupied  by  a  projecting 


TANCRED  289 

pavilion  of  white  marble,  a  light  cupola  of  chequered 
carving  supported  by  wreathed  columns.  From  these 
pavilions  the  most  charming  views  might  be  obtained 
of  the  city  and  the  surrounding  country:  Damascus, 
itself  a  varied  mass  of  dark  green  groves,  white  min- 
arets, bright  gardens,  and  hooded  domes;  to  the 
south  and  east,  at  the  extremity  of  its  rich  plain,  the 
glare  of  the  desert;  to  the  west  the  ranges  of 
the  Lebanon;  while  the  city  was  backed  on  the  north 
by  other  mountain  regions  which  Tancred  had  not 
yet  penetrated. 

In  the  centre  of  the  terrace  was  a  temporary  struc- 
ture of  a  peculiar  character.  It  was  nearly  forty  feet 
long,  half  as  many  broad,  and  proportionately  lofty. 
Twelve  palm  trees  clustering  with  ripe  fruit,  and  each 
of  which  seemed  to  spring  from  a  flowering  hedge 
of  myrtles,  supported  a  roof  formed  with  much  arti- 
fice of  the  braided  boughs  of  trees.  These,  however, 
only  furnished  an  invisible  framework,  from  which 
were  suspended  the  most  beautiful  and  delicious  fruits, 
citron  and  pomegranate,  orange,  and  fig,  and  banana, 
and  melon,  in  such  thickness  and  profusion  that  they 
formed,  as  it  were,  a  carved  ceiling  of  rich  shades 
and  glowing  colours,  like  the  Saracenic  ceiling  of  the 
mansion,  while  enormous  bunches  of  grapes  every 
now  and  then  descended  like  pendants  from  the  main 
body  of  the  roof.  The  spaces  between  the  palm  trees 
were  filled  with  a  natural  trellis-work  of  orange  trees 
in  fruit  and  blossom,  leaving  at  intervals  arches  of  en- 
trance, whose  form  was  indicated  by  bunches  of  the 
sweetest  and  rarest  flowers. 

Within  was  a  banqueting-table  covered  with  thick 
white  damask  silk,  with  a  border  of  gold  about  a 
foot  in  breadth,  and  before  each   guest  was    placed   a 


290  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

napkin  of  the  same  fashion.  The  table,  however, 
lacked  none  of  the  conveniences  and  luxuries  and 
even  ornaments  of  Europe,  What  can  withstand  the 
united  influence  of  taste,  wealth,  and  commerce? 
The  choicest  porcelain  of  France,  golden  goblets 
chiselled  in  Bond  Street,  and  the  prototypes  of  which 
had  perhaps  been  won  at  Goodwood  or  Ascot,  min- 
gled with  the  rarest  specimens  of  the  glass  of  Bohe- 
mia, while  the  triumphant  blades  of  Sheifield  flashed 
in  that  very  Syrian  city  whose  skill  in  cutlery  had 
once  been  a  proverb.  Around  the  table  was  a  divan 
of  amber-coloured  satin  with  many  cushions,  so  ar- 
ranged that  the  guests  might  follow  either  the  Orien- 
tal or  the  European  mode  of  seating  themselves. 
Such  was  the  bower  or  tabernacle  of  Besso  of  Da- 
mascus, prepared  to  celebrate  the  seventh  day  of  his 
vintage  feast. 


CHAPTER   XLVIII. 
Eva's  Affianced  Bridegroom. 

E  OUGHT  to  have  met  at  Jerusalem,' 
said  Tancred  to  Besso,  on  whose 
right  hand  he  was  seated,  'but  I 
am  happy  to  thank  you  for  all 
your  kindness,  even  at  Damascus.' 
'My  daughter  tells  me  you  are 
not  uninterested  in  our  people,  which  is  the  reason 
I  ventured  to  ask  you  here.' 

'I  cannot  comprehend  how  a  Christian  can  be  un- 
interested in  a  people  who  have  handed  down  to  him 
immortal  truths.' 

'All  the  world  is  not  as  sensible  of  the  obligation 
as  yourself,  noble  traveller.' 

'  But  who  are  the  world  ?  Do  you  mean  the  in- 
habitants of  Europe,  which  is  a  forest  not  yet  cleared; 
or  the  inhabitants  of  Asia,  which  is  a  ruin  about  to 
tumble  ? ' 

'The  railroads  will  clear  the  forest,'  said  Besso. 
'And  what  is  to  become  of  the  ruin.?'  asked  Tan- 
cred. 

'God  will  not  forget  His  land.' 
'That  is  the  truth;    the  government   of  this   globe 
must  be  divine,  and  the  impulse  can  only  come  from 
Asia.' 

(291) 


292  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

*  If  your  government  only  understood  the  Eastern 
question!'  said  Mr.  Consul-General  Laurella,  pricking 
up  his  ears  at  some  half  phrase  that  he  had  caught, 
and  addressing  Tancred  across  the  table.  '  It  is  more 
simple  than  you  imagine,  and  before  you  return  to 
England  to  take  your  seat  in  your  Parliament,  I  should 
be  very  happy  to  have  some  conversation   with  you. 

I    think    I    could    tell    you   some    things '  and   he 

gave  a  glance  of  diplomatic  mystery.     Tancred  bowed. 

'For  my  part,'  said  Hillel  Besso,  shrugging  his 
shoulders,  and  speaking  in  an  airy  tone,  *  it  seems  to 
me  that  your  Eastern  question  is  a  great  imbroglio 
that  only  exists  in  the  cabinets  of  diplomatists.  Why 
should  there  be  any  Eastern  question  ?  All  is  very 
well  as  it  is.  At  least  we  might  be  worse:  I  think 
we  might  be  worse.' 

'  I  am  so  happy  to  find  myself  once  more  among 
you,'  whispered  Fakredeen  to  his  neighbour,  Madame 
Mourad  Farhi.     'This  is  my  real  home.' 

'  All  here  must  be  happy  and  honoured  to  see 
you,  too,  noble  Emir.' 

'And  the  good  Signor  Mourad:  I  am  afraid  I  am 
not  a  favourite  of  his.?'  pursued  Fakredeen,  meditating 
a  loan. 

'  I  never  heard  my  husband  speak  of  you,  noble 
Emir,  but  with  the  greatest  consideration." 

'There  is  no  man  I  respect  so  much,'  said  Fak- 
redeen; 'no  one  in  whom  I  have  such  a  thorough 
confidence.  Excepting  our  dear  host,  who  is  reallv 
my  father,  there  is  no  one  on  whose  judgment  I 
would  so  implicitly  rely.  Tell  him  all  that,  my 
dear  Madame  Mourad,  for  I  wish  him  to  respect 
me.' 

'I    admire    his    hair   so    much,'  whispered   Therese 


TANCRED  2^2 

Laurella,  in  an  audible  voice  to  her  sister,  across  the 
broad  form  of  the  ever-smiling  Madame  Picholoroni. 
"Tis  such  a  relief  after  our  dreadful  turbans.' 

'And  his  costume,  so  becoming!  I  wonder  how 
any  civilised  being  can  wear  the  sort  of  things  we 
see  about  us.  Tis  really  altogether  like  a  wardrobe 
of  the  Comedie.' 

'Well,  Sophonisbe,'  said  the  sensible  Moses  Lau- 
rella, 'I  admire  the  Franks  very  much;  they  have 
many  qualities  which  I  could  wish  our  Levantines 
shared;  but  I  confess  that  I  do  not  think  that  their 
strong  point  is  their  costume.' 

'Oh,  my  dear  uncle!'  said  Therese;  'look  at  that 
beautiful  white  cravat.  What  have  we  like  it.?  So 
simple,  so  distinguished!  Such  good  taste!  And 
then  the  boots.  Think  of  our  dreadful  slippers!  pow- 
dered with  pearls  and  all  sorts  of  trash  of  that  kind, 
by  the  side  of  that  lovely  French  polish.' 

'  He  must  be  terribly  ennuy6  here,'  said  Therese  to 
Sophonisbe,  with  a  look  of  the  initiated. 

'Indeed,  I  should  think  so:  no  balls,  not  an  opera; 
I  quite  pity  him.  What  could  have  induced  him  to 
come  here  ?' 

'I  should  think  he  must  be  attached  to  some  one,' 
said  Therese:   'he  looks  unhappy.' 

'There  is  not  a  person  near  him  with  whom  he 
can  have  an  idea  in  common.' 

'Except  Mr.  Hillel  Besso,'  said  Therese.  'He  ap- 
pears to  be  quite  enlightened.  1  spoke  to  him  a 
little  before  dinner.  He  has  been  a  winter  at  Pera, 
and  went  to  all  the  balls.' 

'Lord  Palmerston  understood  the  Eastern  question 
to  a  certain  degree,'  said  Mr.  Consul-General  Laurella; 
'  but,  had  I  been  in  the  service  of  the  Queen  of  Eng- 


294  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

land,  I  could  have  told  him  some  things;'  and  he 
mysteriously  paused. 

'  I  cannot  endure  this  eternal  chatter  about  Palm- 
erston,'  said  the  Emir,  rather  pettishly.  'Are  there 
no  other  statesmen  in  the  world  besides  Palmerston.? 
And  what  should  he  know  about  the  Eastern  ques- 
tion, who  never  was  in  the  East.?' 

'  Ah,  noble  Emir,  these  are  questions  of  the  high 
diplomacy.  They  cannot  be  treated  unless  by  the 
cabinets  which  have  traditions.' 

'  I  could  settle  the  Eastern  question  in  a  month,  if 
I  were  disposed,'  said  Fakredeen. 

Mr.  Consul-General  Laurella  smiled  superciliously, 
and  then  said,  '  But  the  question  is,  what  is  the 
Eastern  question.?' 

'For  my  part,'  said  Hillel  Besso,  in  a  most  epi- 
grammatic manner,  '  I  do  not  see  the  use  of  settling 
anything.' 

'The  Eastern  question  is,  who  shall  govern  the 
Mediterranean.?'  said  the  Emir.  'There  are  only  two 
powers  who  can  do  it:  Egypt  and  Syria.  As  for 
the  English,  the  Russians,  the  Franks,  your  friends 
the  Austrians,  they  are  strangers.  They  come,  and 
they  will  go;  but  Syria  and  Egypt  will  always  re- 
main.' 

'Egypt  has  tried,   and  failed.' 

'Then  let  Syria  try,  and  succeed.' 

'  Do  you  visit  Egypt  before  you  return  from  the 
East,   noble  sir .? '  asked  Besso,  of  Tancred. 

'I  have  not  thought  of  my  return;  but  1  should 
not  be  sorry  to  visit  Egypt.  It  is  a  country  that 
rather  perplexes  us  in  Europe.  It  has  undergone  great 
changes.' 

Besso  shook  his  head,   and  slightly  smiled. 


TANCRED  295 

'Egypt,'  said  he,  'never  changes.  'Tis  the  same 
land  as  in  the  days  of  the  Pharaohs:  governed  on 
their  principles  of  political  economy,  with  a  Hebrew 
for  prime  minister.' 

'A  Hebrew  for  prime  minister!' 

'Even  so:  Artim  Bey,  the  present  prime  minister 
of  Egypt,  formerly  the  Pasha's  envoy  at  Paris,  and  by 
far  the  best  political  head  in  the  Levant,  is  not  only 
the  successor  but  the  descendant  of  Joseph.' 

'He  must  be  added  then  to  your  friend  M.  de 
Sidonia's  list  of  living  Hebrew  statesmen,'  said  Tan- 
cred. 

'We  have  our  share  of  the  government  of  the 
world,'  said  Besso. 

'  It  seems  to  me  that  you  govern  every  land  ex- 
cept your  own.' 

'That  might  have  been  done  in  '39,'  said  Besso 
musingly;  'but  why  speak  of  a  subject  which  can 
little  interest  you?' 

'Can  little  interest  me!'  exclaimed  Tancred.  'What 
other  subject  should  interest  me  ?  More  than  six  cen- 
turies ago,  the  government  of  that  land  interested  my 
ancestor,  and  he  came  here  to  achieve  it.' 

The  stars  were  shining  before  they  quitted  the 
Arabian  tabernacle  of  Besso.  The  air  was  just  as  soft 
as  a  sweet  summer  English  noon,  and  quite  as  still. 
The  pavilions  of  the  terrace  and  the  surrounding 
bowers  were  illuminated  by  the  varying  tints  of  a 
thousand  lamps.  Bright  carpets  and  rich  cushions 
were  thrown  about  for  those  who  cared  to  recline; 
the  brothers  Farhi,  for  example,  and  indeed  most  of 
the  men,  smoking  inestimable  nargilehs.  The  Consul- 
General  Laurella  begged  permission  to  present  Lord 
Montacute   to    his  daughters  Therese  and  Sophonisbe, 


296  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

who,  resolved  to  show  to  him  that  Damascus  was 
not  altogether  so  barbarous  as  he  deemed  it,  began 
talking  of  new  dances  and  the  last  opera.  Tancred 
would  have  found  great  difficulty  in  sustaining  his 
part  in  the  conversation,  had  not  the  young  ladies 
fortunately  been  requested  to  favour  those  present 
with  a  specimen  of  the  art  in  which  they  excelled, 
which  they  did  after  much  solicitation,  vowing  that 
they  had  no  voice  to-night,  and  that  it  was  impos- 
sible at  all  times  to  sing  except  in  a  chamber. 

'For  my  part,'  said  Hillel  Besso,  with  an  ex- 
tremely piquant  air,  'music  in  a  chamber  is  very 
charming,  but  1  think  also  in  the  open  air  it  is  not 
so  bad.' 

Tancred  took  advantage  of  this  movement  to  ap- 
proach Eva,  who  was  conversing,  as  they  took  their 
evening  walk,  with  the  soft-eyed  sister  of  Hillel  and 
Madame  Nassim  Farhi;  a  group  of  women  that  the 
drawing-rooms  of  Europe  and  the  harems  of  Asia 
could  perhaps  not  have  rivalled. 

'The  Mesdemoiselles  Laurella  are  very  accom- 
plished,' said  Tancred,  'but  at  Damascus  I  am  not 
content  to  hear  anything  but  sackbuts  and  psalteries.' 

'  But  in  Europe  your  finest  music  is  on  the  sub- 
jects of  our  history,'  said  Eva. 

'Naturally,'  said  Tancred,  'music  alone  can  do 
justice  to  such  themes.  They  baffle  the  uninspired 
pen.' 

'There  is  a  prayer  which  the  Mesdemoiselles  Lau- 
rella once  sang,  a  prayer  of  Moses  in  Egypt,'  said 
Madame  Nassim,  somewhat  timidly.     '  It  is  very  fine.' 

'  I  wish  they  would  favour  us  with  it,'  said  Eva; 
'1  will  ask  Hillel  to  request  that  kindness;'  and  she 
beckoned   to    Hillel,  who    sauntered   toward    her,  and 


TANCRED  297 

listened  to  her  whispered  wish  with  a  smile  of  super- 
cilious complacency. 

'At  present  they  are  going  to  favour  us  with  Don 
Pasquale,'  he  said,  shrugging  his  shoulders.  'A 
prayer  is  a  very  fine  thing,  but  for  my  part,  at  this 
hour,  I  think  a  serenade  is  not  so  bad.' 

'And  how  do  you  like  my  father?'  said  Eva  to 
Tancred  in  a  hesitating  tone,  and  yet  with  a  glance 
of  blended  curiosity  and  pride. 

'He  is  exactly  what  Sidonia  prepared  me  for; 
worthy  not  only  of  being  your  father,  but  the  father 
of  mankind.' 

'The  Moslemin  say  that  we  are  near  paradise  at 
Damascus,'  said  Madame  Nassim,  'and  that  Adam 
was  fashioned  out  of  our  red  earth.' 

'He  much  wished  to  see  you,'  said  Eva,  'and 
your  meeting  is  as  unexpected  as  to  him  it  is  agree- 
able.' 

'We  ought  to  have  met  long  before,'  said  Tan- 
cred. '  When  I  first  arrived  at  Jerusalem,  I  ought  to 
have  hastened  to  his  threshold.  The  fault  and  the 
misfortune  were  mine.  1  scarcely  deserved  the  hap- 
piness of  knowing  you.' 

'  I  am  happy  we  have  all  met,  and  that  you  now 
understand  us  a-Jittle.  When  you  go  back  to  Eng- 
land, you  will  defend  us  when  we  are  defamed  ? 
You  will  not  let  them  persecute  us,  as  they  did  a 
few  years  back,  because  they  said  we  crucified  their 
children  at  the  feast  of  our  passover?' 

'1  shall  not  go  back  to  England,'  said  Tancred,  col- 
ouring; 'and  if  you  are  persecuted,  1  hope  I  shall  be 
able  to  defend  you  here.' 

The  glowing  sky,  the  soft  mellow  atmosphere,  the 
brilliant    surroundings,   and    the  flowers    and    flashing 


298  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

gems,  rich  dresses  and  ravishing  music,  and  every 
form  of  splendour  and  luxury,  combined  to  create  a 
scene  that  to  Tancred  was  startling,  as  well  from  its 
beauty  as  its  novel  character.  A  rich  note  of  Therese 
Laurella  for  an  instant  arrested  their  conversation. 
They  were  silent  while  it  lingered  on  their  ear. 
Then  Tancred  said  to  the  soft-eyed  sister  of  Hillel, 
*  AH  that  we  require  here  to  complete  the  spell  are 
your  beautiful  children.' 

'They  sleep,'  said  the  lady,  'and  lose  little  by  not 
being  present,  for,  like  the  Queen  of  Sheba,  I  doubt 
not  they  are  dreaming  of  music  and  flowers.' 

'  They  say  that  the  children  of  our  race  are  the 
most  beautiful  in  the  world,'  said  Eva,  'but  that 
when  they  grow  up,  they  do  not  fulfil  the  promise 
of  their  infancy.' 

'That  were  scarcely  possible,'  said  the  soft-eyed 
mother. 

'  It  is  the  sense  of  shame  that  comes  on  them 
and  dims  their  lustre,'  said  Eva.  'Instead  of  joyous- 
ness  and  frank  hilarity,  anxiety  and  a  shrinking  re- 
serve are  soon  impressed  upon  the  youthful  Hebrew 
visage.  It  is  the  seal  of  ignominy.  The  dreadful 
secret  that  they  are  an  expatriated  and  persecuted 
race  is  soon  revealed  to  them,  at  least  among  the 
humbler  classes.  The  children  of  our  house  are  bred 
in  noble  thoughts,  and  taught  self-respect.  Their 
countenances  will  not  change.' 

And  the  countenance  from  whose  beautiful  mouth 
issued  those  gallant  words,  what  of  that  ?  It  was 
one  that  might  wilder  the  wisest.  Tancred  gazed 
upon  it  with  serious  yet  fond  abstraction.  All  heav- 
enly and  heroic  thoughts  gathered  around  the  image 
of  this    woman.      From    the    first    moment    of    their 


TANCRED  299 

meeting  at  Bethany  to  this  hour  of  sacred  festival,  all 
the  passages  of  his  life  in  which  she  had  been  pres- 
ent flashed  through  his  mind.  For  a  moment  he  was 
in  the  ruins  of  the  Arabian  desert,  and  recalled  her 
glance  of  sweet  solicitude,  when,  recovered  by  her 
skill  and  her  devotion,  he  recognised  the  fair  stranger 
whose  words  had,  ere  that,  touched  the  recesses  of 
his  spirit,  and  attuned  his  mind  to  high  and  holiest 
mysteries.  Now  again  their  eyes  met;  an  ineffable 
expression  suffused  the  countenance  of  Lord  Monta- 
cute.     He  sighed. 

At  this  moment  Hillel  and  Fakredeen  advanced 
with  a  hurried  air  of  gaiety.  Hillel  offered  his  hand 
to  Eva  with  jaunty  grace,  exclaiming  at  the  same 
time,  '  Ladies,  if  you  like  to  follow  us,  you  shall  see 
a  casket  just  arrived  from  Marseilles,  and  which  Eva 
will  favour  me  by  carrying  to  Aleppo.  It  was  chosen 
for  me  by  the  Lady  of  the  Austrian  Internuncio,  who 
is  now  at  Paris.  For  my  part,  I  do  not  see  much 
advantage  in  the  diplomatic  corps,  if  occasionally  they 
do  not  execute  a  commission  for  one.' 

Hillel  hurried  Eva  away,  accompanied  by  his  sis- 
ter and  Madame  Nassim.  Tancred  and  Fakredeen  re- 
mained behind. 

'Who  is  this  man?'  said  Tancred. 

"Tis  her  affianced,'  said  the  Emir;  'the  man  who 
has  robbed  me  of  my  natural  bride.  It  is  to  be  hoped, 
however,  that,  when  she  is  married,  Besso  will  adopt 
me  as  his  son,  which  in  a  certain  sense  I  am,  hav- 
ing been  fostered  by  his  wife.  If  he  do  not  leave  me 
his  fortune,  he  ought  at  least  to  take  up  all  my  bills 
in  Syria.     Don't  you  think  so,  my  Tancred.?' 

'  What  ? '  said  Tancred,  with  a  dreamy  look. 

There  was  a  burst  of  laughter  in  the  distance. 


300  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'Come,  come,'  said  Fakredeen,  'see  how  they  are 
all  gathering  round  the  marriage  casket.  Even  Nassim 
Farhi  has  risen.  1  must  go  and  talk  to  him:  he  has 
impulses,  that  man,  at  least  compared  with  his 
brother;  Mourad  is  a  stone,  a  precious  stone  though, 
and  you  cannot  magnetise  him  through  his  wife,  for 
she  has  not  an  idea;  but  Madame  Nassim  is  im- 
mensely mesmeric.     Come,  come,  Tancred.' 

'  1  follow.' 

But  instead  of  following  his  friend,  Tancred  en- 
tered one  of  the  marble  pavilions  that  jutted  out  from 
each  corner  of  the  terraced  roof,  and  commanded 
splendid  views  of  the  glittering  and  gardened  city. 
The  moon  had  risen  over  that  unrivalled  landscape; 
the  white  minarets  sparkled  in  its  beam,  and  the  vast 
hoods  of  the  cupolaed  mosques  were  suffused  with 
its  radiancy  or  reposed  in  dark  shadow,  almost  as 
black  as  the  cypress  groves  out  of  which  they  rose. 
In  the  extreme  distance,  beyond  the  fertile  plain,  was 
the  desert,  bright  as  the  line  of  the  sea,  while  other- 
wise around  him  extended  the  chains  of  Lebanon  and 
of  the  North. 

The  countenance  of  Tancred  was  more  than  serious, 
it  was  sad,  as,  leaning  against  one  of  the  wreathed 
marble  pillars,  he  sighed  and  murmured:  'If!  were 
thou,  most  beautiful  Damascus,  Aleppo  should  not 
rob  me  of  such  a  gem!  But  I  must  tear  up  these 
thoughts  from  my  heart  by  their  roots,  and  remember 
that  1  am  ordained  for  other  deeds.' 


^> 


n 


Ub 


CHAPTER    XLIX. 

A  Discussion  About  Scammony. 

FTER  taking  the  bath  on  his  arrival 
at  Damascus,  having  his  beard  ar- 
ranged by  a  barber  of  distinction, 
and  dressing  himself  in  a  fresh 
white  suit,  as  was  his  custom 
when  in  residence,  with  his  tur- 
ban of  the  same  colour  arranged  a  little  aside,  for 
Baroni  was  scrupulous  as  to  his  appearance,  he  hired 
a  donkey  and  made  his  way  to  the  great  bazaar. 
The  part  of  the  city  through  which  he  proceeded  was 
very  crowded  and  bustling:  narrow  streets,  with  mats 
slung  across,  to  shield  from  the  sun  the  swarming 
population  beneath.  His  accustomed  step  was  fa- 
miliar with  every  winding  of  the  emporium  of  the 
city;  he  threaded  without  hesitation  the  complicated 
mazes  of  those  interminable  arcades.  Now  he  was  in 
the  street  of  the  armourers,  now  among  the  sellers  of 
shawls;  the  prints  of  Manchester  were  here  unfolded, 
there  the  silks  of  India;  sometimes  he  sauntered  by  a 
range  of  shops  gay  with  yellow  papooshes  and  scarlet 
slippers,  and  then  hurried  by  the  stalls  and  shelves 
stored  with  the  fatal  frippery  of  the  East,  in  which  it 
is   said  the   plague    in    some    shape   or  other  always 

(301) 


302  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

lurks  and  lingers.  This  locality,  however,  indicated 
that  Baroni  was  already  approaching  the  purlieus  of 
the  chief  places;  the  great  population  had  already 
much  diminished,  the  brilliancy  of  the  scene  much 
dimmed;  there  was  no  longer  the  swarm  of  itinerant 
traders  who  live  by  promptly  satisfying  the  wants  of 
the  visitors  to  the  bazaar  in  the  shape  of  a  pipe  or 
an  ice,  a  cup  of  sherbet  or  of  coffee,  or  a  basket  of 
delicious  fruit.  The  passengers  were  few,  and  all 
seemed  busy:  some  Armenians,  a  Hebrew  physician 
and  his  page,  the  gliding  phantoms  of  some  winding- 
sheets,  which  were  in  fact  women. 

Baroni  turned  into  an  arcade,  well  built,  spacious, 
airy,  and  very  neatly  fitted  up.  This  was  the  bazaar 
of  the  dealers  in  drugs.  Here,  too,  spices  are  sold, 
all  sorts  of  dye-woods,  and  especially  the  choice  gums 
for  which  Arabia  is  still  celebrated,  and  which  Syria 
would  fain  rival  by  the  aromatic  juices  of  her  pistachio 
and  her  apricot  trees. 

Seated  on  what  may  be  called  his  counter,  smok- 
ing a  nargileh,  in  a  mulberry-coloured  robe  bordered 
with  fur,  and  a  dark  turban,  was  a  middle-aged  man 
of  sinister  countenance  and  air,  a  long  hook  nose  and 
a  light  blue  eye. 

'Welcome,  Effendi,'  he  said,  when  he  observed 
Baroni;  'many  welcomes!  And  how  long  have  you 
been  at  Esh  Sham  ? ' 

'Not  too  long,'  said  Baroni;  'and  have  you  been 
here  since  my  last  visit.?' 

'Here  and  there,'  said  the  man,  offering  him  his 
pipe. 

'And  how  are  our  friends  in  the  mountains.?' 
said  Baroni,  touching  the  tube  with  his  lips  and  re- 
turning it. 


TANCRED  303 

'They  live,'  said  the  man. 

'That's  something,'  said  Baroni. 

'Have  you  been  in  the  land  of  the  Franks?'  said 
the  man. 

'I  am  always  in  the  land  of  the  Franks,'  said  Ba- 
roni,  'and  about.' 

'  You  don't  know  any  one  who  wants  a  parcel  of 
scammony?'  said  the  man. 

'I  don't  know  that  1  don't,'  said  Baroni,  mysteri- 
ously. 

'I  have  a  very  fine  parcel,'  said  the  man;  'it  is 
very  scarce.' 

'No  starch  or  myrrh  in  it?'  asked  Baroni. 

'Do  you  think  I  am  a  Jew?'  said  the  man. 

*I  never  could  make  out  what  you  were,  friend 
Darkush;  but  as  for  scammony,  I  could  throw  a 
good  deal  of  business  in  your  way  at  this  moment, 
to  say  nothing  of  galls  and  tragacanth.' 

'As  for  tragacanth,'  said  Darkush,  'it  is  known 
that  no  one  in  Esh  Sham  has  pure  tragacanth  except 
me;  as  for  galls,  every  foundling  in  Syria  thinks  he 
can  deal  in  afis,  but  is  it  afis   of  Moussoul,  Effendi?' 

'What  you  say  are  the  words  of  truth,  good 
Darkush;  I  could  recommend  you  with  a  safe  con- 
science. I  dreamt  last  night  that  there  would  many 
piastres  pass  between  us  this  visit.' 

'What  is  the  use  of  friends  unless  they  help  you 
in  the  hour  of  adversity?'  exclaimed  Darkush. 

'  You  speak  ever  the  words  of  truth.  I  am  myself 
in  a  valley  of  dark  shadows.  I  am  travelling  with  a 
young  English  capitani,  a  prince  of  many  tails,  and 
he  has  declared  that  he  will  entirely  extinguish  my 
existence  unless  he  pays  a  visit  to  the  Queen  of  the 
Ansarey.' 


304  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'  Let  him  first  pay  a  visit  to  King  Soliman  in  the 
cities  of  the  Gin,'  said  Darkush,  doggedly. 

'  I  am  not  sure  that  he  will  not,  some  time  or 
other,'  replied  Baroni,  'for  he  is  a  man  who  will  not 
take  nay.  But  now  let  us  talk  of  scammony,'  he 
added,  vaulting  on  the  counter,  and  seating  himself  by 
the  side  of  Darkush;  'one  might  get  more  by  arrang- 
ing this  visit  to  your  mountains  than  by  enjoying  an 
appalto  of  all  its  gums,  friend  Darkush;  but  if  it  can- 
not be,  it  cannot  be.' 

'It  cannot  be,' 

'  Let  us  talk,  then,  of  scammony.  You  remember 
my  old  master,  Darkush  ?  ' 

'There  are  many  things  that  are  forgotten,  but  he 
is  not  one.' 

'This  capitani  with  whom  I  travel,  this  prince  of 
many  tails,  is  his  friend.  If  you  serve  me  now,  you 
serve  also  him  who  served  you.' 

'There  are  things  that  can  be  done,  and  there  are 
things  that  cannot  be  done.' 

'  Let  us  talk,  then,  of  scammony.  But  fifteen  years 
ago,  when  we  first  met,  friend  Darkush,  you  did  not 
say  nay  to  M.  de  Sidonia.  It  was  the  plague  alone 
that  stopped  us.' 

'The  snow  on  the  mountain  is  not  the  same  snow 
as  fifteen  years  ago,   EfFendi.     All  things  change! ' 

'  Let  us  talk,  then,  of  scammony.  The  Ansarey 
have  friends  in  other  lands,  but  if  they  will  not  listen 
to  them,  many  kind  words  will  be  lost.  Things  also 
might  happen  which  would  make  everybody's  shadow 
longer,  but  if  there  be  no  sun,  their  shadows  cannot 
be  seen.' 

Darkush  shrugged  his  shoulders. 


TANCRED  305 

'  If  the  sun  of  friendship  does  not  illumine  me,' 
resumed  Baroni,  '  I  am  entirely  lost  in  the  bottomless 
vale.  Truly,  I  would  give  a  thousand  piastres  if  I 
could  save  my  head  by  taking  the  capitani  to  your 
mountains.' 

'The  princes  of  Franguestan  cannot  take  off  heads,' 
observed  Darkush.  '  All  they  can  do  is  to  banish  you 
to  islands  inhabited  by  demons.' 

'But  the  capitani  of  whom  I  speak  is  prince  of 
many  tails,  is  the  brother  of  queens.  Even  the  great 
Queen  of  the  English,  they  say,  is  his  sister.' 

'He  who  serves  queens  may  expect  backsheesh.* 

'And  you  serve  a  queen,  Darkush?' 

'  Which  is  the  reason  I  cannot  give  you  a  pass  for 
the  mountains,  as  I  would  have  done,  fifteen  years 
ago,  in  the  time  of  her  father.' 

'Are  her  commands,  then,  so  strict?' 

'That  she  should  see  neither  Moslem  nor  Christian. 
She  is  at  war  with  both,  and  will  be  for  ever,  for  the 
quarrel  between  them  is  beyond  the  power  of  man  to 
remove.' 

'And  what  may  it  be?' 

'That  you  can  learn  only  in  the  mountains  of  the 
Ansarey,'  said  Darkush,  with  a  malignant  smile. 

Baroni  fell  into  a  musing  mood.  After  a  few  mo- 
ments' thought,  he  looked  up,  and  said:  'What  you 
have  told  me,  friend  Darkush,  is  very  interesting,  and 
throws  light  on  many  things.  This  young  prince, 
whom  I  serve,  is  a  friend  to  your  race,  and  knows 
well  why  you  are  at  war  both  with  Moslem  and 
Christian,  for  he  is  so  himself.  But  he  is  a  man  spar- 
ing of  words,  dark  in  thought,  and  terrible  to  deal 
with.     Why   he   wishes   to    visit  your   people  I  dared 


3o6  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

not  inquire,  but  now  I  guess,  from  what  you  have 
let  fall,  that  he  is  an  Ansarey  himself.  He  has  come 
from  a  far  land  merely  to  visit  his  race,  a  man  who 
is  a  prince  among  the  people,  to  whom  piastres  are 
as  water.  I  doubt  not  he  has  much  to  say  to  your 
Queen:  things  might  have  happened  that  would  have 
lengthened  ail  our  shadows;  but  never  mind,  what 
cannot  be,  cannot  be:  let  us  talk,  then,  of  scam- 
mony.' 

'You  think  he  is  one?'  said  Darkush,  in  a  lower 
tone,  and  looking  very  inquiringly. 

'  1  do,'  said  Baroni. 

'And  what  do  you  mean   by  one?'  said  Darkush. 

'That  is  exactly  the  secret  which  I  never  could 
penetrate.' 

'1  cannot  give  a  pass  to  the  mountains,'  said  Dar- 
kush, 'but  the  sympathy  of  friends  is  a  river  flowing 
in   a   fair  garden.     If  this   prince,  whose  words   and 

thoughts  are   dark,  should   indeed  be   one Could 

I  see  him,  Effendi  ?' 

'It  is  a  subject  on  which  I  dare  not  speak  to  him,' 
said  Baroni.  '1  hinted  at  his  coming  here:  his  brow 
was  the  brow  of  Eblis,  his  eye  flashed  like  the  red 
lightning  of  the  Kamsin:  it  is  impossible!  What  can- 
not be  done,  cannot  be  done.  He  must  return  to  the 
land  of  his  fathers,  unseen  by  your  Queen,  of  whom 
he  is  perhaps  a  brother;  he  will  live,  hating  alike 
Moslem  and  Christian,  but  he  will  banish  me  for  ever 
to  islands  of  many  demons.' 

'The  Queen  shall  know  of  these  strange  things,' 
said  Darkush,   'and  we  will  wait  for  her  words.' 

'Wait  for  the  Mecca  caravan!'  exclaimed  Baroni. 
'  You    know    not    the    child    of    storms,    who    is    my 


TANCRED  307 

master,  and  that  is  ever  a  reason  why  I  think  he 
must  be  one  of  you.  For  had  he  been  softened  by 
Christianity  or  civilised  by  the  Koran ' 

'Unripe  figs  for  your  Christianity  and  your  Koran!' 
exclaimed  Darkush.  'Do  you  know  what  we  think 
of  your  Christianity  and  your  Koran?' 

'No,'  said  Baroni,  quietly.     'Tell  me.' 

'You  will  learn  in  our  mountains,'  said  Darkush. 

'Then  you  mean  to  let  me  go  there?' 

'If  the  Queen  permit  you,'  said  Darkush, 

'It  is  three  hundred  miles  to  your  country,  if  it  be 
an  hour's  journey,'  said  Baroni.  'What  with  sending 
the  message  and  receiving  the  answer,  to  say  noth- 
ing of  the  delays  which  must  occur  with  a  woman 
and  a  queen  in  the  case,  the  fountains  of  Esh  Sham 
will  have  run  dry  before  we  hear  that  our  advance  is 
forbidden.' 

Darkush  shook  his  head,  and  yet  smiled. 

'  By  the  sunset  of  to-morrow,  Effendi,  I  could  say, 
ay  or  nay.  Tell  me  what  scammony  you  want,  and 
it  shall  be  done.' 

'Write  down  in  your  tablets  how  much  you  can 
let  me  have,'  said  Baroni,  'and  I  will  pay  you  for  it 
to-morrow.  As  for  the  goods  themselves,  you  may 
keep  them  for  me,  until  I  ask  you  for  them;  perhaps 
the  next  time  I  travel  with  a  capitani  who  is  one  of 
yourselves.' 

Darkush  threw  aside  the  tube  of  his  nargileh,  and, 
putting  his  hand  very  gently  into  the  breast  of  his 
robe,  he  drew  out  a  pigeon,  dove-coloured,  but  with 
large  bright  black  eyes.  The  pigeon  seemed  very 
knowing  and  very  proud,  as  he  rested  on  his  master's 
two  fingers. 


3o8 


BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 


'Hah,  hah!  my  Karaguus,  my  black-eyes,'  ex- 
claimed Darkush.  'What,  is  he  going  on  a  little 
journey  to  somebody!  Yes,  we  can  trust  Karaguus, 
for  he  is  one  of  us.  EtTendi,  to-morrow  at  sunset,  at 
your  khan,  for  the  bazaar  will  be  closed,  you  shall 
hear  from  me.' 


CHAPTER   L. 

The  Mysterious  Mountains. 

T  THE  black  gorge  of  a  mountain 
pass  sat,  like  sentries,  two  horse- 
men. Their  dress  was  that  of  the 
Kurds:  white  turbans,  a  black 
shirt  girt  with  cords,  on  their 
backs  a  long  lance,  by  their  sides  a 
crooked  sword,  and  in  their  girdles  a  brace  of  pis- 
tols. 

Before  them  extended  a  wide,  but  mountainous 
landscape:  after  the  small  and  very  rugged  plain  on 
the  brink  of  which  they  were  posted,  many  hilly 
ridges,  finally  a  lofty  range.  The  general  character  of 
the  scene  was  severe  and  savage;  the  contiguous 
rocks  were  black  and  riven,  the  hills  barren  and 
stony,  the  granite  peaks  of  the  more  eminent  heights 
uncovered,  except  occasionally  by  the  snow.  Yet, 
notwithstanding  the  general  aridity  of  its  appearance, 
the  country  itself  was  not  unfruitful.  The  concealed 
vegetation  of  the  valleys  was  not  inconsiderable,  and 
was  highly  cherished;  the  less  precipitous  cliffs,  too, 
were  cut  into  terraces,  and  covered  with  artificial  soil. 
The  numerous  villages  intimated  that  the  country  was 
Well    populated.     The    inhabitants    produced   sufficient 

(309) 


3IO  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

wine  and  corn  for  their  own  use,  were  clotiied  in 
garments  woven  by  themselves,  and  possessed  some 
command  over  the  products  of  other  countries  by  the 
gums,  the  bees'-wax,  and  the  goats'  wool  which  they 
could  offer  in  exchange. 

'  I  have  seen  two  eagles  over  Gibel  Kiflis  twice 
this  morning,'  said  one  of  the  horsemen  to  his  com- 
panion.    'What  does  that  portend.?' 

*  A  good  backsheesh  for  our  Queen,  comrade.  If 
these  children  of  Franguestan  can  pay  a  princess's 
dower  to  visit  some  columns  in  the  desert,  like  Tad- 
mor,  they  may  well  give  us  the  golden  keys  of  their 
treasury  when  they  enter  where  none  should  go  but 
those  who  are ' 

'But  they  say  that  this  Frank  is  one.' 

'It  has  never  been  known  that  there  were  any 
among  the  Franks,'  replied  his  comrade,  shaking  his 
head.  'The  Franks  are  all  Nazareny,  and,  before 
they  were  Nazareny,  they  were  savages,  and  lived  in 
caves.' 

'  But  Keferinis  has  given  the  word  that  all  are  to 
guard  over  the  strangers  as  over  the  Queen  herself, 
and  that  one  is  a  prince,  who  is  unquestionably  one 
of  us.' 

'My  father  had  counted  a  hundred  and  ten  years 
when  he  left  us,  Azaz,  and  he  had  twenty-four  chil- 
dren, and  when  he  was  at  the  point  of  death  he  told 
us  two  things:  one  was,  never  to  forget  what  we 
were;  and  the  other,  that  never  in  his  time  had  one 
like  us  ever  visited  our  country.' 

'Eagles  again  fly  over  Gibel  Kiflis:  methinks  the 
strangers  must  be  at  hand.' 

'May  their  visit  lead  to  no  evil  to  them  or  to 
us!' 


TANCRED  311 

*  Have  you  misgivings  ?  ' 

'We  are  alone  among  men:    let  us  remain  so.' 

'You  are  right.  I  was  once  at  Haleb  (Aleppo);  I 
will  never  willingly  find  myself  there  again.' 

'Give  me  the  mountains,  the  mountains  of  our 
fathers,  and  the  beautiful  things  that  can  be  seen  only 
by  one  of  us!' 

'They  are  not  to  be  found  in  the  bazaars  of  Haleb; 
in  the  gardens  of  Damascus  they  are  not  to  be 
sought.' 

'Oh!  who  is  like  the  Queen  who  reigns  over  us.? 
I  know  to  whom  she  is  to  be  compared,  but  I  will 
not  say;  yet  you  too  know,  my  brother  in  arms.' 

'Yes;  there  are  things  which  are  not  known  in 
the  bazaars  of  Haleb;  in  the  gardens  of  Damascus 
they  are  not  to  be  sought.' 

Karaguus,  the  black-eyed  pigeon,  brought  tidings 
to  the  Queen  of  the  Ansarey,  from  her  agent  Darkush, 
that  two  young  princes,  one  a  Syrian,  the  other  a 
Frank,  wished  to  enter  her  territories  to  confer  with 
her  on  grave  matters,  and  that  he  had  reason  to  be- 
lieve that  one  of  the  princes,  the  Frank,  strange,  in- 
credible as  it  might  sound,  was  one  of  themselves. 
On  the  evening  of  the  next  day,  very  weary,  came 
Ruby-lips,  the  brother  of  Black-eyes,  with  the  reply  of 
her  Majesty,  ordering  Darkush  to  grant  the  solicited 
pass,  but  limiting  the  permission  of  entrance  into  her 
dominions  to  the  two  princes  and  two  attendants.  As 
one  of  these,  Baroni  figured.  They  did  not  travel 
very  rapidly.  Tancred  was  glad  to  seize  the  occasion 
to  visit  Hameh  and  Aleppo  on  his  journey. 

It  was  after  quitting  the  latter  city,  and  crossing 
the  river  Koweik,  that  they  approached  the  region 
which  was  the  object  of  their  expedition.     What  cer- 


312  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

tainly  did  not  contribute  to  render  their  progress  less 
difficult  and  dangerous  was  the  circumstance  that 
war  at  this  moment  was  waged  between  the  Queen 
of  the  Ansarey  and  the  Pasha  of  Aleppo.  The  Turkish 
potentate  had  levied  tribute  on  some  villages  which 
owned  her  sway,  and  which,  as  he  maintained,  were 
not  included  in  the  ancient  composition  paid  by  the 
Ansarey  to  the  Porte  in  full  of  all  demands.  The 
consequence  was,  that  parties  of  the  Ansarey  occa- 
sionally issued  from  their  passes  and  scoured  the 
plain  of  Aleppo.  There  was  also  an  understanding 
between  the  Ansarey  and  the  Kurds,  that,  whenever 
any  quarrel  occurred  between  the  mountaineers  and 
the  Turks,  the  Kurds,  who  resembled  the  inhabitants 
of  the  mountain  in  their  general  appearance,  should, 
under  the  title  of  Ansarey,  take  this  opportunity  of 
ravage.  Darkush,  however,  had  given  Baroni  creden- 
tials to  the  secret  agent  of  the  Ansarey  at  Aleppo; 
and,  with  his  instructions  and  assistance,  the  difficul- 
ties, which  otherwise  might  have  been  insuperable, 
were  overcome;  and  thus  it  was  that  the  sentries 
stationed  at  the  mouth  of  the  black  ravine,  which  led 
to  the  fortress  palace  of  the  Queen,  were  now  hourly 
expecting  the  appearance  of  the  princes. 

A  horseman  at  full  gallop  issued  from  the  hills,  and 
came  bounding  over  the  stony  plain;  he  shouted  to 
the  sentries  as  he  passed  them,  announcing  the  arrival 
of  the  strangers,  and  continued  his  pace  through  the 
defile.  Soon  afterwards  appeared  the  cavalcade  of 
the  princes;  themselves,  their  two  attendants,  and  a 
party  of  horsemen  with  white  turbans  and  long 
lances. 

Tancred  and  Fakredeen  rode  horses  of  a  high  race. 
But   great  as  is  the  pleasure  of  being   well    mounted. 


TANCRED 


3^3 


it  was  not  that  circumstance  alone  whicii  lit  up  their 
eyes  with  even  unwonted  fire,  and  tinged  their  cheeks 
with  a  triumphant  glow.  Their  expedition  had  been 
delightful;  full  of  adventure,  novelty,  and  suspense. 
They  had  encountered  difficulties  and  they  had  over- 
come them.  They  had  a  great  purpose,  they  were 
on  the  eve  of  a  stirring  incident.  They  were  young, 
daring,  and  brilliant. 

'A  strong  position,'  said  Tancred,  as  they  entered 
the  defile. 

'O!  my  Tancred,  what  things  we  have  seen  to- 
gether!' exclaimed  Fakredeen.  'And  what  is  to  fol- 
low ? ' 

The  defile  was  not  long,  and  it  was  almost  un- 
bending. It  terminated  in  a  table-land  of  very  lim- 
ited extent,  bounded  by  a  rocky  chain,  on  one  of  the 
front  and  more  moderate  elevations  of  which  was 
the  appearance  of  an  extensive  fortification;  though, 
as  the  travellers  approached  it,  they  perceived  that, 
in  many  instances,  art  had  only  availed  itself  of  the 
natural  advantages  of  the  position,  and  that  the 
towers  and  turrets  were  carved  out  of  the  living 
rock  which  formed  the  impregnable  bulwarks  and 
escarpments. 

The  cavalcade,  at  a  quick  pace,  soon  gained  the 
ascending  and  winding  road  that  conducted  them  to 
a  tall  and  massy  gateway,  the  top  of  which  was 
formed  of  one  prodigious  stone.  The  iron  portal 
opening  displayed  a  covered  way  cut  out  of  the  rock, 
and  broad  enough  to  permit  the  entrance  of  two 
horsemen  abreast.  This  way  was  of  considerable 
length,  and  so  dark  that  they  were  obliged  to  be 
preceded  by  torch-bearers.  Thence  they  issued  into 
a   large    courtyard,  the   sunshine    of  which  was   star- 


314  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

tling  and  almost  painful,  after  their  late  passage.  The 
court  was  surrounded  by  buildings  of  different  styles 
and  proportions;  the  further  end,  and,  as  it  were, 
centre  of  the  whole,  being  a  broad,  square,  and 
stunted  brick  tower,  immediately  behind  which  rose 
the  granite  peaks  of  the  mountains. 

There  were  some  horsemen  in  the  court,  and 
many  attendants  on  foot,  who  came  forward  and  as- 
sisted the  guests  to  alight.  Tancred  and  Fakredeen 
did  not  speak,  but  exchanged  glances  which  ex- 
pressed their  secret  thoughts.  Perhaps  they  were  of 
the  same  opinion  as  Baroni,  that,  difficult  as  it  was 
to  arrive  there,  it  might  not  be  more  easy  to  return. 
However,  God  is  great!  a  consolatory  truth  that  had 
sustained  Baroni  under  many  trials. 

They  were  ushered  into  a  pavilion  at  the  side  of 
the  court,  and  thence  into  a  commodious  divan, 
which  opened  upon  another  and  smaller  court,  in 
which  were  some  acacia  trees.  As  usual,  pipes  and 
coffee  were  brought.  Baroni  was  outside,  with  the 
other  attendant,  stowing  away  the  luggage.  A  man 
plainly  but  neatly  dressed,  slender  and  wrinkled,  with 
a  stooping  gait  but  a  glittering  eye,  came  into  the 
chamber,  and,  in  a  hushed  voice,  with  many  smiles, 
much  humility,  but  the  lurking  air  of  a  master,  wel- 
comed them  to  Gindarics.  Then,  seating  himself  on 
the  divan,  he  clapped  his  hands,  and  an  attendant 
brought  him  his  nargileh. 

M  presume,'  said  Tancred,  'that  the  Emir  and 
myself  have  the  honour  of  conversing  with  the  Lord 
Keferinis.'  Thus  he  addressed  this  celebrated  eu- 
nuch, who  is  prime  minister  of  the  Queen  of  the 
Ansarey. 


TANCRED  315 

'The  Prince  of  England,'  replied  Keferinis,  bow- 
ing, and  speaking  in  a  very  affected  voice,  and  in  a 
very  affected  manner,  'must  not  expect  the  luxuries 
of  the  world  amid  these  mountains.  Born  in  Lon- 
don, which  is  surrounded  by  the  sea,  and  with  an 
immense  slave  population  at  your  command,  you 
have  advantages  with  which  the  Ansarey  cannot 
compete,  unjustly  deprived,  as  they  have  been,  of 
their  port;  and  unable,  in  the  present  diminished 
supply  of  the  markets,  to  purchase  slaves  as  hereto- 
fore from  the  Turkmans  and  the  Kurds.' 

'I  suppose  the  Russians  interfere  with  your  mar- 
kets.?' said  Fakredeen. 

'The  noble  Emir  of  the  Lebanon  has  expressed 
himself  with  infinite  exactitude,' said  Keferinis.  'The 
Russians  now  entirely  stock  their  harems  from  the 
north  of  Asia.' 

'The  Lord  Keferinis  has  been  a  great  traveller,  1 
apprehend.'*'  said  Tancred. 

'The  Prince  of  England  has  expressed  himself 
with  extreme  exactitude,  and  with  flattering  grace,' 
replied  Keferinis.  'I  have  indeed  visited  all  the  Syr- 
ian cities,  except  Jerusalem,  which  no  one  wishes 
to  see,  and  which,'  he  added,  in  a  sweet  calm  tone, 
'is  unquestionably  a  place  fit  only  for  hogs.' 

Tancred  started,  but  repressed  himself. 

'Have  you  been  in  Lebanon.?'   asked  Fakredeen. 

'  Noble  Emir,  I  have  been  the  guest  of  princes  of 
your  illustrious  house.  Conversations  have  passed 
between  me  and  the  Emir  Bescheer,'  he  added,  with 
a  significant  look.  '  Perhaps,  had  events  happened 
which  did  not  occur,  the  great  Emir  Bescheer  might 
not  at  this  moment  have  been  a  prisoner  at  Stamboul, 


3i6  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

among  those  who,  with  infinite  exactitude,  may  be 
described  as  the  most  obscene  sons  of  very  intolera- 
ble barbarians.' 

'  And  why  did  not  you  and  the  Emir  Bescheer 
agree?'  inquired  Fakredeen,  eagerly.  'Why  has  there 
never  been  a  right  understanding  between  your  peo- 
ple and  the  House  of  Shehaab.?  United,  we  should 
not  only  command  Syria,  but  we  might  do  more: 
we  might  control  Asia  itself! ' 

'The  noble  Emir  has  expressed  himself  with  inex- 
pressible grace.  The  power  of  the  Ansarey  cannot 
be  too  highly  estimated!' 

'  Is  it  true  that  your  sovereign  can  bring  five  and 
twenty  thousand  men  into  the  field.?'  asked  Tancred. 

'Five  and  twenty  thousand  men,'  replied  Keferinis, 
with  insinuating  courtesy,  '  each  of  whom  could  beat 
nine  Maronites,  and  consequently  three  Druses.' 

'Five  and  twenty  thousand  figs  for  your  five  and 
twenty  thousand  men!'  exclaimed  Fakredeen  laugh- 
ing. 

At  this  moment  entered  four  pages  and  four 
maidens  bringing  sweetmeats  from  the  Queen,  and 
goblets  of  iced  water.  They  bowed;  Keferinis  indi- 
cated their  purpose,  and  when  they  had  fulfilled  their 
office  they  disappeared;  but  the  seasonable  interrup- 
tion had  turned  the  conversation,  and  prevented  Fak- 
redeen making  a  sharp  retort.  Now  they  talked  of 
the  Queen,  who,  Keferinis  said,  would  be  graciously 
pleased  not  to  see  them  to-day,  and  might  not  even 
see  them  for  a  week,  which  agreeable  intelligence 
was  communicated  in  the  most  affable  manner,  as  if 
it  were  good  news,  or  a  compliment  at  least. 

'The  name  of  the  Queen's  father  was  Suedia,'  said 
Fakredeen. 


TANCRED  317 

'The  name  of  the  Queen's  father  was  Suedia,'  re- 
plied Keferinis. 

'And  the  name  of  the  Queen's  mother ' 

'Is  of  no  consequence,'  observed  Keferinis,  'for 
she  was  a  slave,  and  not  one  of  us,  and  therefore 
may  with  singular  exactitude  be  described  as  noth- 
ing.' 

'Is  she  the  first  Queen  who  has  reigned  over  the 
Ansarey?'  inquired  Tancred. 

'The  first  since  we  have  settled  in  these  moun- 
tains,' replied  Keferinis. 

'And  where  were  you  settled  before?'  inquired 
Fakredeen. 

'Truly,'  replied  Keferinis,  'in  cities  which  never 
can  be  forgotten,  and  therefore  need  never  be  men- 
tioned.' 

Tancred  and  Fakredeen  were  very  desirous  of 
learning  the  name  of  the  Queen,  but  were  too  well- 
bred  directly  to  make  the  inquiry  of  Keferinis.  They 
had  endeavoured  to  obtain  the  information  as  they 
travelled  along,  but  although  every  Ansarey  most 
obligingly  answered  their  inquiry,  they  invariably 
found,  on  comparing  notes,  that  every  time  they 
were  favoured  with  a  different  piece  of  information. 
At  last,  Baroni  informed  them  that  it  was  useless  to 
pursue  their  researches,  as  he  was,  from  various  rea- 
sons, convinced  that  no  Ansarey  was  permitted  to 
give  any  information  of  his  country,  race,  govern- 
ment, or  creed,  although  he  was  far  too  civil  ever  to 
refuse  an  apparently  satisfactory  answer  to  every 
question.  As  for  Keferinis,  although  he  was  very 
conversable,  the  companions  observed  that  he  always 
made  it  a  rule  to  dilate  upon  subjects  and  countries 
with  which  he  had  no  acquaintance,  and  he  expressed 


3i8 


BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 


himself  in  so  affected  a  manner,  and  with  such  an 
amphfication  of  useless  phraseology,  that,  though  he 
was  always  talking,  they  seemed  at  the  end  of  the 
day  to  be  little  more  acquainted  with  the  Ansarey 
and  their  sovereign  than  when  Baroni  first  opened 
the  subject  of  their  visit  to  Darkush  at  Damascus. 


CHAPTER   LI 


Queen  of  the  Ansarey. 

WAY,  away,  Cypres!  I  can   remain 
no  more;  my  heart  beats  so.' 
'Sweet  lady,'  replied  Cypros,  'it 
is  surprise  that  agitates   you.' 
'  Is  it   surprise,  Cypros  ?    I    did 
not   know   it  was  surprise.     Then 
I  never  was  surprised  before.' 

'I  think  they  were  surprised,  sweet  lady,'  said 
Cypros,  smiling. 

'Hush,  you  are  laughing  very  loud,  my  Cypros.' 
'Is  that  laughter,  sweet  lady?     I  did  not  know  it 
was  laughter.     Then  I  never  laughed  before.' 

*  I  would  they  should  know  nothing  either  of  our 
smiles  or  of  our  sighs,  my  Cypros.' 

She  who  said  this  was  a  girl  of  eighteen  summers; 
her  features  very  Greek,  her  complexion  radiant,  hair 
dark  as  night,  and  eyes  of  the  colour  of  the  violet. 
Her  beautiful  countenance,  however,  was  at  this  mo- 
ment nearly  shrouded  by  her  veil,  although  no  one 
could  possibly  behold  it,  excepting  her  attendant, 
younger  even  than  herself,  and  fresh  and  fair  as  a 
flower. 

They  were  hurrying  along  a  wooden  gallery,  which 
led,  behind   the    upper    part  of  the  divan  occupied  by 

(3^9) 


320  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

the  travellers,  to  the  great  square  central  tower  of  the 
quadrangle,  which  we  have  already  noticed,  and  as 
the  truth  must  always,  or  at  least  eventually,  come 
out,  it  shall  not  be  concealed  that,  availing  themselves 
of  a  convenient,  perhaps  irresistible  position,  the  fair 
fugitives  had  peeped  into  the  chamber,  and  had  made 
even  minute  observations  on  its  inhabitants  with  im- 
punity. Suddenly,  Fakredeen  rising  from  his  seat,  a 
panic  had  seized  them  and  they  hurried  away. 

The  gallery  led  to  a  flight  of  steps,  and  the  flight 
of  steps  into  the  first  of  several  chambers  without 
decoration,  and  with  no  other  furniture  than  an  East- 
ern apartment  always  offers,  the  cushioned  seat,  which 
surrounds  at  least  two-thirds  of  the  room.  At  length 
they  entered  a  small  alcove,  rudely  painted  in  ara- 
besque, but  in  a  classic  Ionic  pattern;  the  alcove 
opened  into  a  garden,  or  rather  court  of  myrtles  with 
a  fountain.  An  antelope,  an  Angora  cat,  two  Persian 
greyhounds,  were  basking  on  the  sunny  turf,  and 
there  were  many  birds  about,  in  rude  but  capacious 
cages. 

'We  are  safe,'  said  the  lady,  dropping  on  the  di- 
van; M  think  we  must  have  been  seen.' 

'That  was  clearly  impossible,'  said  Cypros. 

'Well,  we  must  be  seen  at  last,'  said  the  lady. 
'Heigho!  I  never  shall  be  able  to  receive  them,  if  my 
heart  beat  so.' 

'1  would  let  them  wait  a  few  days,  sweet  lady,' 
said  Cypros,  '  and  then  you  would  get  more  used  to 
them.' 

'I  shall  never  be  more  used  to  them.  Besides,  it 
is  rude  and  inhospitable  not  to  see  them.  Yesterday 
there  was  an  excuse:  they  were  wearied,  or  1  had  a 
right  to  suppose  they  were,  with  their  travelling;  and 


TANCRED  321 

to-day,  there  ought  to  be  an  excuse  for  not  receiving 
them  to-day.     What  is  it,  Cypros  ? ' 

'I  dare  say  they  will  be  quite  content,  if  to-day 
you  fix  the  time  when  you  will  receive  them,  sweet 
lady.' 

'But  I  shall  not  be  content,  Cypros.  Having  seen 
them  once,  I  wish  to  see  them  again,  and  one  can- 
not always  be  walking  by  accident  in  the  gallery.' 

'  Then  I  would  see  them  to-day,  sweet  lady.  Shall 
I  send  for  the  noble  Keferinis?' 

'I  wish  I  were  Cypros,  and  you  were Hark! 

what  is  that?' 

"Tis  only  the  antelope,  sweet  lady.' 

'I  thought  it  was Now  tell  me,  my  Cypros, 

which  of  these  two  princes  do  you  think  is  he  who 
is  one  of  us  ? ' 

'Oh,  really,  sweet  lady,  I  think  they  are  both  so 
handsome!' 

'Yet  so  unlike,'  said  the  lady. 

'Well,  they  are  unlike,'  said  Cypros,  'and  yet ' 

'And  what  ?' 

'The  fair  one  has  a  complexion  almost  as  radiant 
as  your  own,  sweet  lady.' 

'And  eyes  as  blue:  no,  they  are  too  light.  And 
so,  as   there   is   a  likeness,  you  think  he  is  the  one.?' 

'I  am  sure  I  wish  they  were  both  belonging  to 
us,'  said  Cypros. 

'Ah,  me!'  said  the  lady,  "tis  not  the  bright-faced 
prince  whom  I  hold  to  be  one  of  us.  No,  no,  my 
Cypros.  Think  awhile,  sweet  girl.  The  visage,  the 
head  of  the  other,  have  you  not  seen  them  before? 
Have  you  not  seen  something  like  them?  That  head 
so  proudly  placed  upon  the  shoulders;  that  hair,  that 
hyacinthine   hair,  that  lofty  forehead,  that  proud   lip, 


322  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

that  face  so  refined  and  yet  so  haughty,  does  it  not 
recall  anything?    Think,  Cypros;  think!' 

'It  does,  sweet  lady.' 

'Tell  me;  whisper  it  to  me;  it  is  a  name  not  to 
be  lightly  mentioned.' 

Cypros  advanced,  and  bending  her  head,  breathed 
a  word  in  the  ear  of  the  lady,  who  instantly,  blush- 
ing deeply,  murmured  with  a  faint  smile,   'Yes.' 

'It  is  he,  then,'  said  Cypros,   'who  is  one  of  us.' 


CHAPTER   LII. 
A  Royal  Audience. 

UR  travellers  were  speculating,  not 
very  sanguinely,  on  the  possible 
resources  which  Gindarics  might 
supply  for  the  amusement  of  a 
week,  when,  to  their  great  relief, 
they  were  informed  by  Keferinis, 
that  the  Queen  had  fixed  noon,  on  this  the  day  after 
their  arrival,  to  receive  them.  And  accordingly  at 
that  time  some  attendants,  not  accompanying,  how- 
ever, the  chief  minister,  waited  on  Tancred  and  Fak- 
redeen,  and  announced  that  they  were  commanded 
to  usher  them  to  the  royal  presence.  Quitting  their 
apartments,  they  mounted  a  flight  of  steps,  which  led 
to  the  wooden  gallery,  along  which  they  pursued 
their  course.  At  its  termination  were  two  sentries 
with  their  lances.  Then  they  descended  a  corre- 
sponding flight  of  stairs  and  entered  a  chamber  where 
they  were  received  by  pages;  the  next  room,  of  larger 
size,  was  crowded,  and  here  they  remained  for  a 
few  minutes.  Then  they  were  ushered  into  the  pres- 
ence. 

The  young  Queen  of  the  Ansarey  could   not  have 
received  them  with  an    air    more    impassive    had    she 

(323) 


324  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

been  holding  a  levee  at  St.  James'.  Seated  on  her 
divan,  she  was  clothed  in  a  purple  robe;  her  long 
dark  hair  descended  over  her  shoulders,  and  was 
drawn  off  her  white  forehead,  which  was  bound 
with  a  broad  circlet  of  pure  gold,  and  of  great  an- 
tiquity. On  her  right  hand  stood  Keferinis,  the  cap- 
tain of  her  guard,  and  a  priestly-looking  person  with 
a  long  white  beard,  and  then  at  some  distance  from 
these  three  personages,  a  considerable  number  of 
individuals,  between  whose  appearance  and  that 
of  her  ordinary  subjects  there  was  little  difference. 
On  her  left  hand  were  immediately  three  female  at- 
tendants, young  and  pretty;  at  some  distance  from 
them,  a  troop  of  female  slaves;  and  again,  at  a 
still  further  distance,  another  body  of  her  subjects  in 
their  white  turbans  and  their  black  dresses.  The 
chamber  was  spacious,  and  rudely  painted  in  the 
Ionic  style. 

'It  is  most  undoubtedly  requested,  and  in  a  vein 
of  the  most  condescending  friendship,  by  the  per- 
fectly irresistible  Queen,  that  the  princes  should  be 
seated,'  said  Keferinis,  and  accordingly  Tancred  occu- 
pied his  allotted  seat  on  the  right  of  the  Queen, 
though  at  some  distance,  and  the  young  Emir  filled 
his  on  the  left.  Fakredeen  was  dressed  in  Syrian 
splendour,  a  blaze  of  shawls  and  jewelled  arms;  but 
Tancred  retained  on  this,  as  he  had  done  on  every 
other  occasion,  the  European  dress,  though  in  the 
present  instance  it  assumed  a  somewhat  more  bril- 
liant shape  than  ordinary,  in  the  dark  green  regimen- 
tals, the  rich  embroidery,  and  the  flowing  plume  of 
the  Bellamont  yeomanry  cavalry. 

'You  are  a  prince  of  the  English,'  said  the  Queen 
to  Tancred. 


TANCRED  325 

'I  am  an  Englishman,'  he  replied,  'and  a  subject 
of  our  Queen,  for  we  also  have  the  good  fortune  to 
be  ruled  over  by  the  young  and  the  fair.' 

'My  fathers  and  the  House  of  Shehaab  have  been 
ever  friends,'  she  continued,  turning  to  Fakredeen. 

'May  they  ever  continue  so!'  he  replied.  'For  if 
the  Shehaabs  and  the  Ansarey  are  of  one  mind,  Syria 
is  no  longer  earth,  but  indeed  paradise.' 

'You  live  much  in  ships?'  said  the  Queen,  turn- 
ing to  Tancred. 

'We  are  an  insular  people,'  he  answered,  some- 
what confusedly,  but  the  perfectly-informed  Keferinis 
came  to  the  succour  both  of  Tancred  and  of  his  sov- 
ereign. 

'  The  English  live  in  ships  only  during  six  months 
of  the  year,  principally  when  they  go  to  India,  the 
rest  entirely  at  their  country  houses.' 

'Ships  are  required  to  take  you  to  India?'  said 
her  Majesty. 

Tancred  bowed  assent. 

'Is  your  Queen  about  my  age?' 

*  She  was  as  young  as  your  Majesty  when  she  be- 
gan to  reign.' 

'And  how  long  has  she  reigned?' 
'Some  seven  years  or  so.' 
'  Has  she  a  castle  ? ' 

*  Her  Majesty  generally  resides  in  a  very  famous 
castle.' 

'Very  strong,  I  suppose?' 
'Strong  enough.' 

'The  Emir  Bescheer  remains  at  Stamboul?' 
'He  is    now,  I   believe,  at    Brusa,'   replied   Fakre- 
deen. 

'Does  he  like  Brusa  ?' 


326  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'Not  as  much  at  Stamboul.' 

Ms  Stamboul  the  hirgest  city  in  the  world?' 

'I  apprehend  by  no  means,'  said  Fakredeen. 

'What  is  larger?' 

'London  is  larger,  the  great  city  of  the  English, 
from  which  the  prince  comes;  Paris  is  also  larger,  but 
not  so  large  as  London.' 

'  How  many  persons  are  there  in  Stamboul  ?  ' 

'More  than  half  a  million.' 

'Have  you  seen  Antakia  (Antioch)?'  the  Queen  in- 
quired of  Tancred. 

'Not  yet.' 

'You  have  seen  Beiroot?' 

'I  have.' 

'Antakia  is  not  nearly  so  great  a  place  as  Beiroot,' 
said  the  Queen;  'yet  once  Antakia  was  much  larger 
than  Stamboul;  as  large,  perhaps,  as  your  great  city.' 

'And  far  more  beautiful  than  either,'  said  Tancred. 

'Ah!  you  have  heard  of  these  things!'  exclaimed 
the  Queen,  with  much  animation.  '  Now  tell  me, 
why  is  Antakia  no  longer  a  great  city,  as  great  as 
Stamboul  and  the  city  of  the  English,  and  far  more 
beautiful  ? ' 

'It  is  a  question  that  might  perplex  the  wise,'  said 
Tancred. 

'I  am  not  wise,'  said  the  Queen,  looking  earnestly 
at  Tancred,   'yet  I  could  solve  it.' 

'  Would  that  your  Majesty  would  deign  to  do  so.' 

'There  are  things  to  be  said,  and  there  are  things 
not  to  be  said,'  was  the  reply,  and  the  Queen  looked 
at  Keferinis. 

'  Her  Majesty  has  expressed  herself  with  infinite 
exactitude  and  with  condescending  propriety,'  said  the 
chief  minister. 


TANCRED  327 

The  Queen  was  silent  for  a  moment,  thoughtful, 
and  then  waved  gracefully  her  hands;  whereupon  the 
chamber  was  immediately  cleared.  The  princes,  in- 
structed by  Keferinis,  alone  remained,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  the  minister,  who,  at  the  desire  of  his 
sovereign,  now  seated  himself,  but  not  on  the  divan. 
He  sat  opposite  to  the  Queen  on  the  floor. 

'Princes,'  said  the  Queen,  'you  are  welcome  to 
Gindarics,  where  nobody  ever  comes.  For  we  are 
people  who  wish  neither  to  see  nor  to  be  seen.  We 
are  not  like  other  people,  nor  do  we  envy  other  peo- 
ple. I  wish  not  for  the  ships  of  the  Queen  of  the 
English,  and  my  subjects  are  content  to  live  as  their 
fathers  lived  before  them.  Our  mountains  are  wild 
and  barren;  our  vales  require  for  their  cultivation  un- 
ceasing toil.  We  have  no  gold  or  silver,  no  jewels; 
neither  have  we  silk.  But  we  have  some  beautiful 
and  consoling  thoughts,  and  more  than  thoughts, 
which  are  shared  by  all  of  us  and  open  to  all  of  us, 
and  which  only  we  can  value  or  comprehend.  When 
Darkush,  who  dwells  at  Damascus,  and  was  the  serv- 
ant of  my  father,  sent  to  us  the  ever-faithful  mes- 
senger, and  said  that  there  were  princes  who  wished 
to  confer  with  us,  he  knew  well  it  was  vain  to  send 
here  men  who  would  talk  of  the  English  and  the 
Egyptians,  of  the  Porte  and  of  the  nations  of  Fran- 
guestan.  These  things  to  us  are  like  the  rind  of  fruit. 
Neither  do  we  care  for  cottons,  nor  for  things  which 
are  sought  for  in  the  cities  of  the  plains,  and  it  may 
be,  noble  Emir,  cherished  also  in  the  mountains  of 
Lebanon.  This  is  not  Lebanon,  but  the  mountains  of 
the  Ansarey,  who  are  as  they  have  ever  been,  before 
the  name  of  Turk  or  English  was  known  in  Syria, 
and  who  will  remain  as  they  are,  unless  that  happens 


328  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

which  may  never  happen,  but  which  is  too  beautiful 
not  to  believe  may  arrive.  Therefore  I  speak  to  you 
with  frankness,  princes  of  strange  countries:  Dar- 
kush,  the  servant  of  my  father,  and  also  mine,  told 
me,  by  the  ever-faithful  messenger,  that  it  was  not 
of  these  things,  which  are  to  us  like  water  spilt  on 
sand,  that  you  wished  to  confer,  but  that  there  were 
things  to  be  said  which  ought  to  be  uttered.  There- 
fore it  is  1  sent  back  the  faithful  messenger,  saying, 
"Send  then  these  princes  to  Gindarics,  since  their 
talk  is  not  of  things  which  come  and  go,  making 
a  noise  on  the  coast  and  in  the  cities  of  the  plains, 
and  then  passing  away."  These  we  infinitely  de- 
spise; but  the  words  of  truth  uttered  in  the  spirit  of 
friendship  will  last,  if  they  be  grave,  and  on  matters 
which  authorise  journeys  made  by  princes  to  visit 
queens.' 

Her  Majesty  ceased,  and  looked  at  Keferinis,  who 
bowed  profound  approbation.  Tancred  and  Fakre- 
deen,  also  exchanged  glances,  but  the  Emir  waved  his 
hand,  signifying  his  wish  that  Tancred  should  reply, 
who,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  with  an  air  of  great 
deference,  thus  ventured  to  express  himself: 

'It  seems  to  me  and  to  my  friend,  the  Prince  of 
the  Lebanon,  that  we  have  listened  to  the  words  of 
wisdom.  They  are  in  every  respect  just.  We  know 
not,  ourselves,  Darkush,  but  he  was  rightly  informed 
when  he  apprised  your  Majesty  that  it  was  not  upon 
ordinary  topics,  either  political  or  commercial,  that 
we  desired  to  visit  Gindarics.  Nor  was  it  out  of  such 
curiosity  as  animates  travellers.  For  we  are  not 
travellers,  but  men  who  have  a  purpose  which  we 
wish  to  execute.  The  world,  that,  since  its  creation, 
has  owned  the  spiritual  supremacy  of  Asia,  which   is 


TANCRED  329 

but  natural,  since  Asia  is  the  only  portion  of  the 
world  which  the  Creator  of  that  world  has  deigned  to 
visit,  and  in  which  he  has  ever  conferred  with  man, 
is  unhappily  losing  its  faith  in  those  ideas  and  convic- 
tions that  hitherto  have  governed  the  human  race. 
We  think,  therefore,  the  time  has  arrived  when  Asia 
should  make  one  of  its  periodical  and  appointed  efforts 
to  reassert  that  supremacy.  But  though  we  are  act- 
ing, as  we  believe,  under  a  divine  impulse,  it  is  our 
duty  to  select  the  most  fitting  human  agents  to  ac- 
complish a  celestial  mission.  We  have  thought,  there- 
fore, that  it  should  devolve  on  Syria  and  Arabia, 
countries  in  which  our  God  has  even  dwelt,  and  with 
which  he  has  been  from  the  earliest  days  in  direct 
and  regular  communication,  to  undertake  the  solemn 
task.  Two  races  of  men,  alike  free,  one  inhabiting  the 
desert,  the  other  the  mountains,  untainted  by  any  of 
the  vices  of  the  plains,  and  the  virgin  vigour  of  their 
intelligence  not  dwarfed  by  the  conventional  supersti- 
tions of  towns  and  cities,  one  prepared  at  once  to 
supply  an  unrivalled  cavalry,  the  other  an  army  ready 
equipped  of  intrepid  foot-soldiers,  appear  to  us  to  be 
indicated  as  the  natural  and  united  conquerors  of  the 
world.  We  wish  to  conquer  that  world,  with  angels 
at  our  head,  in  order  that  we  may  establish  the  happi- 
ness of  man  by  a  divine  dominion,  and  crushing  the 
political  atheism  that  is  now  desolating  existence, 
utterly  extinguish  the  grovelling  tyranny  of  self-gov- 
ernment.' 

The  Queen  of  the  Ansarey  listened  with  deep  and 
agitated  attention  to  Tancred.  When  he  had  con- 
cluded, she  said,  after  a  moment's  pause,  *I  believe 
also  in  the  necessity  of  the  spiritual  supremacy  of  our 
Asia.     And  since  it  has  ceased,  it  seems  not  to  me  that 


330  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

man  and  man's  life  have  been  either  as  great  or  as 
beautiful  as  heretofore.  What  you  have  said  assures 
me  that  it  is  well  that  you  have  come  hither.  But 
when  you  speak  of  Arabia,  of  what  God  is  it  you 
speak  ? ' 

'  I  speak  of  the  only  God,  the  Creator  of  all  things, 
the  God  who  spoke  on  the  Arabian  Mount  Sinai, 
and  expiated  our  sins  upon  the  Syrian  Mount  Cal- 
vary.' 

'There  is  also  Mount  Olympus,'  said  the  Queen, 
'which  is  in  Anatolia.      Once  the  gods  dwelt    there.' 

'The  gods  of  poets,'  said  Tancred. 

'No;  the  gods  of  the  people;  who  loved  the 
people,  and  whom  the  people  loved.' 

There  was  a  pause,  broken  by  the  Queen,  who, 
looking  at  her  minister,  said,  'Noble  Keferinis,  the 
thoughts  of  these  princes  are  divine,  and  in  every  re- 
spect becoming  celestial  things.  Is  it  not  well  that 
the  gates  of  the  beautiful  and  the  sacred  should  not 
be  closed?' 

'  In  every  sense,  irresistible  Queen,  it  is  well  that 
the  gates  of  the  beautiful  and  the  sacred  should  not 
be  closed.' 

'Then  let  them  bring  garlands.  Princes,'  the  Queen 
continued,  'what  the  eye  of  no  stranger  has  looked 
upon,  you  shall  now  behold.  This  also  is  Asian  and 
divine.' 

Immediately  the  chamber  again  filled.  The  Queen, 
looking  at  the  two  princes  and  bowing,  rose  from 
her  seat.  They  instantly  followed  her  example.  One 
came  forward,  offering  to  the  Queen,  and  then  to 
each  of  them,  a  garland.  Garlands  were  also  taken 
by  Keferinis  and  a  few  others.  Cypres  and  her  com- 
panions walked  first,  then  Keferinis  and  one  who  had 


TANCRED 


33^ 


stood  near  the  royal  divan;  the  Queen,  between  her 
two  guests,  followed,  and  after  her  a  small  and  or- 
dered band. 

They  stopped  before  a  lofty  portal  of  bronze,  evi- 
dently of  ancient  art.  This  opened  into  a  covered 
and  excavated  way,  in  some  respects  similar  to  that 
which  had  led  them  directly  to  the  castle  of  Gin- 
darics;  but,  although  obscure,  not  requiring  artificial 
light,  yet  it  was  of  no  inconsiderable  length.  It 
emerged  upon  a  platform  cut  out  of  the  natural  rock; 
on  all  sides  were  steep  cHffs,  above  them  the  bright 
blue  sky.  The  ravine  appeared  to  be  closed  on  every 
side. 

The  opposite  cliflF,  at  the  distance  of  several  hun- 
dred yards,  reached  by  a  winding  path,  presented,  at 
first,  the  appearance  of  the  front  of  an  ancient  tem- 
ple; and  Tancred,  as  he  approached  it,  perceived  that 
the  hand  of  art  had  assisted  the  development  of  an 
imitation  of  nature:  a  pediment,  a  deep  portico,  sup- 
ported by  Ionic  columns,  and  a  flight  of  steps,  were 
carved  out  of  the  cliflF,  and  led  into  vast  caverns, 
which  art  also  had  converted  into  lofty  and  magnifi- 
cent chambers.  When  they  had  mounted  the  steps, 
the  Queen  and  her  companions  lifted  their  garlands 
to  the  skies,  and  joined  in  a  chorus,  solemn  and 
melodious,  but  which  did  not  sound  as  the  language 
of  Syria.  Passing  through  the  portico,  Tancred  found 
himself  apparently  in  a  vast  apartment,  where  he  be- 
held a  strange  spectacle. 

At  the  first  glance  it  seemed  that,  ranged  on  blocks 
of  the  surrounding  mountains,  were  a  variety  of 
sculptured  figures  of  costly  materials  and  exquisite 
beauty;  forms  of  heroic  majesty  and  ideal  grace;  and, 
themselves     serene     and     unimpassioned,    filling     the 


232  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

minds  of  the  beholders  with  awe  and  veneration.  It 
was  not  until  his  eye  was  accustomed  to  the  atmos- 
phere, and  his  mind  had  in  some  degree  recovered 
from  the  first  strange  surprise,  that  Tancred  gradually 
recognised  the  fair  and  famous  images  over  which 
his  youth  had  so  long  and  so  early  pondered. 
Stole  over  his  spirit  the  countenance  august,  with  the 
flowing  beard  and  the  lordly  locks,  sublime  on  his 
ivory  throne,  in  one  hand  the  ready  thunderbolt,  in 
the  other  the  cypress  sceptre;  at  his  feet  the  watch- 
ful eagle  with  expanded  wings:  stole  over  the  spirit 
of  the  gazing  pilgrim,  each  shape  of  that  refined  and 
elegant  hierarchy  made  for  the  worship  of  clear  skies 
and  sunny  lands;  goddess  and  god,  genius  and 
nymph,  and  faun,  all  that  the  wit  and  heart  of  man 
can  devise  and  create,  to  represent  his  genius  and 
his  passion,  all  that  the  myriad  developments  of  a 
beautiful  nature  can  require  for  their  personification, 
A  beautiful  and  sometimes  flickering  light  played 
over  the  sacred  groups  and  figures,  softening  the  rav- 
ages of  time,  and  occasionally  investing  them  with, 
as  it  were,  a  celestial  movement. 

'The  gods  of  the  Greeks!'  exclaimed  Tancred. 

'The  gods  of  the  Ansarey,'  said  the  Queen;  'the 
gods  of  my  fathers!' 

'I  am  filled  with  a  sweet  amazement,'  murmured 
Tancred.  '  Life  is  stranger  than  1  deemed.  My  soul 
is,  as  it  were,  unsphered.' 

'Yet  you  know  them  to  be  gods,'  said  the  Queen; 
'and  the  Emir  of  the  Lebanon  does  not  know  them 
to  be  gods  ?' 

'I  feel  that  they  are  such,'  said  Fakredeen. 

'How  is  this,  then?'  said  the  Queen.  'How  is  it 
that  you,  the  child  of  a  northern  isle ' 


TANCRED  333 

'Should  recognise  the  Olympian  Jove,'  said  Tan- 
cred.  'It  seems  strange;  but  from  my  earliest  youth 
I  learnt  these  things.' 

'Ah,  then,'  murmured  the  Queen  to  herself,  and 
with  an  expression  of  the  greatest  satisfaction,  'Dar- 
kush  was  rightly  informed;  he  is  one  of  us.' 

'I  behold  then,  at  last,  the  gods  of  the  Ansarey,' 
said  Fakredeen. 

'All  that  remains  of  Antioch,  noble  Emir;  of  Anti- 
och  the  superb,  with  its  hundred  towers,  and  its 
sacred  groves  and  fanes  of  flashing  beauty.' 

'Unhappy  Asia!'  exclaimed  the  Emir;  'thou  hast 
indeed  fallen!' 

'When  all  was  over,'  said  the  Queen;  'when  the 
people  refused  to  sacrifice,  and  the  gods,  indignant, 
quitted  earth,  I  hope  not  for  ever,  the  faithful  few 
fled  to  these  mountains  with  the  sacred  images,  and 
we  have  cherished  them.  I  told  you  we  had  beauti- 
ful and  consoling  thoughts,  and  more  than  thoughts. 
All  else  is  lost,  our  wealth,  our  arts,  our  luxury,  our 
invention,  all  have  vanished.  The  niggard  earth 
scarcely  yields  us  a  subsistence;  we  dress  like  Kurds, 
feed  hardly  as  well;  but  if  we  were  to  quit  these 
mountains,  and  wander  like  them  on  the  plains  with 
our  ample  flocks,  we  should  lose  our  sacred  images, 
all  the  traditions  that  we  yet  cherish  in  our  souls, 
that  in  spite  of  our  hard  lives  preserve  us  from  being 
barbarians;  a  sense  of  the  beautiful  and  the  lofty,  and 
the  divine  hope  that,  when  the  rapidly  consummating 
degradation  of  Asia  has  been  fulfilled,  mankind  will 
return  again  to  those  gods  u'ho  made  the  earth  beau- 
tiful and  happy;  and  that  they,  in  their  celestial 
mercy,  may  revisit  that  world  which,  without  them, 
has  become  a  howling  wilderness.' 


334  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'Lady,'  said  Tancred,  with  much  emotion,  'we 
must,  with  your  permission,  speak  of  these  things. 
My  heart  is  at  present  too  full.' 

'Come  hither,'  said  the  Queen,  in  a  voice  of  great 
softness;  and  she  led  Tancred  away. 

They  entered  a  chamber  of  much  smaller  dimen- 
sions, which  might  be  looked  upon  as  a  chapel  an- 
nexed to  the  cathedral  or  Pantheon  which  they  had 
quitted.  At  each  end  of  it  was  a  statue.  They 
paused  before  one.  It  was  not  larger  than  life,  of 
ivory  and  gold;  the  colour  purer  than  could  possibly 
have  been  imagined,  highly  polished,  and  so  little  in- 
jured, that  at  a  distance  the  general  effect  was  not  in 
the  least  impaired. 

'Do  you  know  that?'  asked  the  Queen,  as  she 
looked  at  the  statue,  and  then  she  looked  at  Tancred. 

'I  recognise  the  god  of  poetry  and  light,'  said 
Tancred;  'Phoebus  Apollo.' 

'Our  god:  the  god  of  Antioch,  the  god  of  the 
sacred  grove!  Who  could  look  upon  him,  and  doubt 
his  deity!' 

'Is  this  indeed  the  figure,'  murmured  Tancred, 
'before  which  a  hundred  steers  have  bled?  before 
which  libations  of  honeyed  wine  were  poured  from 
golden  goblets?  that  lived  in  a  heaven  of  incense?' 

'Ah!  you  know  all.' 

'Angels  watch  over  us!'  said  Tancred,  'or  my 
brain  will  turn.     And  who  is  this?' 

'One  before  whom  the  pilgrims  of  the  world  once 
kneeled.  This  is  the  Syrian  goddess;  the  Venus  of 
our  land,  but  called  among  us  by  a  name  which,  by 
her  favour,  I  also  bear,  Astarte.' 


CHAPTER   LIII. 
Fakredeen's  Plots. 

ND  when  did  men  cease  from  wor- 
shipping  them?'  asked    Fakredeen 
of  Tancred;  'before  the  Prophet?' 
'When    truth    descended   from 
Heaven    in   the   person    of  Christ 
Jesus.' 

'  But  truth  had  descended  from  Heaven  before 
Jesus,'  replied  Fakredeen;  'since,  as  you  tell  me,  God 
spoke  to  Moses  on  Mount  Sinai,  and  since  then  to 
many  of  the  prophets  and  the  princes  of  Israel.' 

'Of  whom  Jesus  was  one,'  said  Tancred;  'the 
descendant  of  King  David  as  well  as  the  Son  of  God. 
But  through  this  last  and  greatest  of  their  princes  it 
was  ordained  that  the  inspired  Hebrew  mind  should 
mould  and  govern  the  world.  Through  Jesus  God 
spoke  to  the  Gentiles,  and  not  to  the  tribes  of  Israel 
only.  That  is  the  great  worldly  difference  between 
Jesus  and  his  inspired  predecessors.  Christianity  is 
Judaism  for  the  multitude,  but  still  it  is  Judaism,  and 
its  development  was  the  death-blow  of  the  Pagan 
idolatry.' 

'Gentiles,'  murmured  Fakredeen;  'Gentiles!  you 
are  a  Gentile,  Tancred?' 

(335) 


336  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'Alas!  I  am,'  he  answered,  'sprung  from  a  horde 
of  Baltic  pirates,  who  never  were  heard  of  during  the 
greater  annals  of  the  world,  a  descent  which  1  have 
been  educated  to  believe  was  the  greatest  of  honours. 
What  we  should  have  become,  had  not  the  Syro- 
Arabian  creeds  formed  our  minds,  I  dare  not  contem- 
plate. Probably  we  should  have  perished  in  mutual 
destruction.  However,  though  rude  and  modern  Gen- 
tiles, unknown  to  the  Apostles,  we  also  were  in  time 
touched  with  the  sacred  symbol,  and  originally  en- 
dowed with  an  organisation  of  a  high  class,  for  our 
ancestors  wandered  from  Caucasus;  we  have  become 
kings  and  princes.' 

'What  a  droll  thing  is  history,'  said  Fakredeen. 
'Ah!  if  I  were  only  acquainted  with  it,  my  educa- 
tion would  be  complete.  Should  you  call  me  a  Gen- 
tile?' 

'  I  have  great  doubts  whether  such  an  appellation 
could  be  extended  to  the  descendants  of  Ishmael.  I 
always  look  upon  you  as  a  member  of  the  sacred 
race.  It  is  a  great  thing  for  any  man;  for  you  it  may 
tend  to  empire.' 

'Was  Julius  Caesar  a  Gentile?' 

'  Unquestionably.' 

'And  Iskander?'   (Alexander  of  Macedon.) 

'No  doubt;  the  two  most  illustrious  Gentiles  that 
ever  existed,  and  representing  the  two  great  races  on 
the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean,  to  which  the  apos- 
tolic views  were  first  directed.' 

'Well,  their  blood,  though  Gentile,  led  to  empire,' 
said  Fakredeen. 

'  But  what  are  their  conquests  to  those  of  Jesus 
Christ?'  said  Tancred,  with  great  animation.  'Where 
are  their  dynasties  ?  where  their  subjects  ?    They  were 


TANCRED  337 

both  deified:  who  burns  incense  to  them  now?  Their 
descendants,  both  Greek  and  Roman,  bow  before  the 
altars  of  the  house  of  David.  The  house  of  David  is 
worshipped  at  Rome  itself,  at  every  seat  of  great  and 
growing  empire  in  the  world,  at  London,  at  St. 
Petersburg,  at  New  York.  Asia  alone  is  faithless  to 
the  Asian;  but  Asia  has  been  overrun  by  Turks  and 
Tatars.  For  nearly  five  hundred  years  the  true  Orien- 
tal mind  has  been  enthralled.  Arabia  alone  has  re- 
mained free  and  faithful  to  the  divine  tradition.  From 
its  bosom  we  shall  go  forth  and  sweep  away  the 
moulding  remnants  of  the  Tataric  system;  and  then, 
when  the  East  has  resumed  its  indigenous  intelli- 
gence, when  angels  and  prophets  again  mingle  with 
humanity,  the  sacred  quarter  of  the  globe  will  recover 
its  primeval  and  divine  supremacy;  it  will  act  upon 
the  modern  empires,  and  the  faint-hearted  faith  of 
Europe,  which  is  but  the  shadow  of  a  shade,  will  be- 
come as  vigorous  as  befits  men  who  are  in  sustained 
communication  with  the  Creator.' 

*  But  suppose,'  said  Fakredeen,  in  a  captious  tone 
that  was  unusual  with  him,  '  suppose,  when  the  Ta- 
taric system  is  swept  away,  Asia  reverts  to  those 
beautiful  divinities  that  we  beheld  this  morning?' 

More  than  once,  since  they  quitted  the  presence  of 
Astarte,  had  Fakredeen  harped  upon  this  idea.  From 
that  interview  the  companions  had  returned  moody 
and  unusually  silent.  Strange  to  say,  there  seemed  a 
tacit  understanding  between  them  to  converse  little 
on  that  subject  which  mainly  engrossed  their  minds. 
Their  mutual  remarks  on  Astarte  were  few  and  con- 
strained; a  little  more  diffused  upon  the  visit  to  the 
temple;  but  they  chiefly  kept  up  the  conventional 
chat   of  companionship    by   rather   commonplace   ob- 


338  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

servations  on  Keferinis  and  other  incidents  and  per- 
sons comparatively  of  little  interest  and  importance. 

After  their  audience,  they  dined  with  the  minister, 
not  exactly  in  the  manner  of  Downing  Street,  nor 
even  with  the  comparative  luxury  of  Canobia;  but 
the  meal  was  an  incident,  and  therefore  agreeable.  A 
good  pilaflf  was  more  acceptable  than  some  partridges 
dressed  with  oil  and  honey:  but  all  Easterns  are  tem- 
perate, and  travel  teaches  abstinence  to  the  Franks. 
Neither  Fakredeen  nor  Tancred  were  men  who  criti- 
cised a  meal:  bread,  rice,  and  coffee,  a  bird  or  a  fish, 
easily  satisfied  them.  The  Emir  affected  the  Moslem 
when  the  minister  offered  him  the  wine  of  the 
mountains,  which  was  harsh  and  rough  after  the  de- 
licious Vino  d'Oro  of  Lebanon;  but  Tancred  contrived 
to  drink  the  health  of  Queen  Astarte  without  any  wry 
expression  of  countenance. 

'I  believe,'  said  Keferinis,  'that  the  English,  in 
their  island  of  London,  drink  only  to  women;  the 
other  natives  of  Franguestan  chiefly  pledge  men;  we 
look  upon  both  as  barbarous.' 

'At  any  rate,  you  worship  the  god  of  wine,'  re- 
marked Tancred,  who  never  attempted  to  correct  the 
self-complacent  minister.  '  1  observed  to-day  the 
statue  of  Bacchus.' 

'Bacchus!'  said  Keferinis,  with  a  smile,  half  of 
inquiry,  half  of  commiseration.  '  Bacchus:  an  English 
name,  I  apprehend!  All  our  gods  came  from  the  an- 
cient Antakia  before  either  the  Turks  or  the  English 
were  heard  of.  Their  real  names  are  in  every  respect 
sacred;  nor  will  they  be  uttered,  even  to  the  Ansarey, 
until  after  the  divine  initiation  has  been  performed  in 
the  perfectly  admirable  and  inexpressibly  delightful 
mysteries,'  which  meant,  in  simpler  tongue,  that  Kef- 


TANCRED  339 

erinis  was  entirely  ignorant  of  the  subject  on  which 
he  was  talking. 

After  their  meal,  Keferinis,  proposing  that  in  the 
course  of  the  day  they  should  fly  one  of  the  Queen's 
hawks,  left  them,  when  the  conversation,  of  which  we 
have  given  a  snatch,  occurred.  Yet,  as  we  have  ob- 
served, they  were  on  the  whole  moody  and  unusually 
silent.  Fakredeen  in  particular  was  wrapped  in  reverie, 
and  when  he  spoke,  it  was  always  in  reference  to  the 
singular  spectacle  of  the  morning.  His  musing  forced 
him  to  inquiry,  having  never  before  heard  of  the 
Olympian  heirarchy,  nor  of  the  woods  of  Daphne, 
nor  of  the  bright  lord  of  the  silver  bow. 

Why  were  they  moody  and  silent? 

With  regard  to  Lord  Montacute,  the  events  of  the 
morning  might  sufficiently  account  for  the  gravity  of 
his  demeanour,  for  he  was  naturally  of  a  thoughtful 
and  brooding  temperament.  This  unexpected  intro- 
duction to  Olympus  was  suggestive  of  many  reflec- 
tions to  one  so  habituated  to  muse  over  divine 
influences.  Nor  need  it  be  denied  that  the  character 
of  the  Queen  greatly  interested  him.  Her  mind  was 
already  attuned  to  heavenly  thoughts.  She  already 
believed  that  she  was  fulfilling  a  sacred  mission. 
Tancred  could  not  be  blind  to  the  importance  of  such 
a  personage  as  Astarte  in  the  great  drama  of  divine 
regeneration,  which  was  constantly  present  to  his 
consideration.  Her  conversion  might  be  as  weighty 
as  ten  victories.  He  was  not  insensible  to  the  efficacy 
of  feminine  influence  in  the  dissemination  of  religious 
truth,  nor  unaware  how  much  the  greatest  develop- 
ment of  the  Arabian  creeds,  in  which  the  Almighty 
himself  deigned  to  become  a  personal  actor,  was  as- 
sisted  by  the   sacred   spell  of  woman.      It  is  not  the 


340  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

Empress  Helene  alone  who  has  rivalled,  or  rather 
surpassed,  the  exploits  of  the  most  illustrious  apostles. 
The  three  great  empires  of  the  age,  France,  England, 
and  Russia,  are  indebted  for  their  Christianity  to  fe- 
male lips.  We  all  remember  the  salutary  influence  of 
Clotilde  and  Bertha  which  bore  the  traditions  of  the 
Jordan  to  the  Seine  and  the  Thames:  it  should  not 
be  forgotten  that  to  the  fortunate  alliance  of  Waldimir, 
the  Duke  of  Moscovy,  with  the  sister  of  the  Greek 
Emperor  Basil,  is  to  be  ascribed  the  remarkable  cir- 
cumstance, that  the  intellectual  development  of  all  the 
Russias  has  been  conducted  on  Arabian  principles.  It 
was  the  fair  Giselle,  worthy  successor  of  the  soft- 
hearted women  of  Galilee,  herself  the  sister  of  the 
Emperor  Henry  the  Second,  who  opened  the  mind  of 
her  husband,  the  King  of  Hungary,  to  the  deep  wis- 
dom of  the  Hebrews,  to  the  laws  of  Moses  and  the 
precepts  of  Jesus.  Poland  also  found  an  apostle  and 
a  queen  in  the  sister  of  the  Duke  of  Bohemia,  and 
who  revealed  to  the  Sarmatian  Micislas  the  ennobling 
mysteries  of  Sinai  and  of  Calvary. 

Sons  of  Israel,  when  you  recollect  that  you  created 
Christendom,  you  may  pardon  the  Christians  even 
their  autos  da  fe  ! 

Fakredeen  Shehaab,  Emir  of  Canobia,  and  lineal 
descendant  of  the  standard-bearer  of  the  Prophet,  had 
not  such  faith  in  Arabian  principles  as  to  dream  of 
converting  the  Queen  of  the  Ansarey.  Quite  the  re- 
verse; the  Queen  of  the  Ansarey  had  converted  him. 
From  the  first  moment  he  beheld  Astarte,  she  had  ex- 
ercised over  him  that  magnetic  influence  of  which  he 
was  peculiarly  susceptible,  and  by  which  Tancred  at 
once  attracted  and  controlled  him.  But  Astarte  added 
to  this  influence   a   power  to   which   the  Easterns   in 


TANCRED  341 

general  do  not  very  easily  bow:  the  influence  of  sex. 
With  the  exception  of  Eva,  woman  had  never  guided 
the  spirit  or  moulded  the  career  of  Fakredeen;  and,  in 
her  instance,  the  sovereignty  had  been  somewhat  im- 
paired by  that  acquaintance  of  the  cradle,  which  has  a 
tendency  to  enfeeble  the  ideal,  though  it  may  strengthen 
the  affections.  But  Astarte  rose  upon  him  commanding 
and  complete,  a  star  whose  gradual  formation  he  had 
not  watched,  and  whose  unexpected  brilliancy  might 
therefore  be  more  strii^ing  even  than  the  superior  splen- 
dour which  he  had  habitually  contemplated.  Young, 
beautiful,  queenly,  impassioned,  and  eloquent,  sur- 
rounded by  the  accessories  that  influence  the  imagina- 
tion, and  invested  with  fascinating  mystery,  Fakredeen, 
silent  and  enchanted,  had  yielded  his  spirit  to  Astarte, 
even  before  she  revealed  to  his  unaccustomed  and  aston- 
ished mind  the  godlike  forms  of  her  antique  theogony. 
Eva  and  Tancred  had  talked  to  him  of  gods; 
Astarte  had  shown  them  to  him.  All  visible  images 
of  their  boasted  divinities  of  Sinai  and  of  Calvary 
with  which  he  was  acquainted  were  enshrined  over 
the  altars  of  the  convents  of  Lebanon.  He  contrasted 
those  representations  without  beauty  or  grace,  so 
mean,  and  mournful,  and  spiritless,  or  if  endued  with 
attributes  of  power,  more  menacing  than  majestic,  and 
morose  rather  than  sublime,  with  those  shapes  of 
symmetry,  those  visages  of  immortal  beauty,  serene 
yet  full  of  sentiment,  on  which  he  had  gazed  that 
morning  with  a  holy  rapture.  The  Queen  had  said 
that,  besides  Mount  Sinai  and  Mount  Calvary,  there 
was  also  Mount  Olympus.  It  was  true;  even  Tan- 
cred had  not  challenged  her  assertion.  And  the  le- 
gends of  Olympus  were  as  old  as,  nay,  older  than, 
those  of  the  convent  or  the  mosques. 


342  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

This  was  no  mythic  fantasy  of  the  beautiful  Astarte; 
the  fond  tradition  of  a  family,  a  race,  even  a  nation. 
These  were  not  the  gods  merely  of  the  mountains: 
they  had  been,  as  they  deserved  to  be,  the  gods  of  a 
great  world,  of  great  nations,  and  of  great  men. 
They  were  the  gods  of  Alexander  and  of  Caius  Julius; 
they  were  the  gods  under  whose  divine  administra- 
tion Asia  had  been  powerful,  rich,  luxurious  and 
happy.  They  were  the  gods  who  had  covered  the 
coasts  and  plains  with  magnificent  cities,  crowded 
the  midland  ocean  with  golden  galleys,  and  filled  the 
provinces  that  were  now  a  chain  of  wilderness  and 
desert  with  teeming  and  thriving  millions.  No  won- 
der the  Ansarey  were  faithful  to  such  deities.  The 
marvel  was  why  men  should  ever  have  deserted 
them.  But  man  had  deserted  them,  and  man  was 
unhappy.  All,  Eva,  Tancred,  his  own  consciousness, 
the  surrounding  spectacles  of  his  life,  assured  him 
that  man  was  unhappy,  degraded,  or  discontented;  at 
all  events,  miserable.  He  was  not  surprised  that  a 
Syrian  should  be  unhappy,  even  a  Syrian  prince,  for 
he  had  no  career;  he  was  not  surprised  that  the  Jews 
were  unhappy,  because  they  were  the  most  perse- 
cuted of  the  human  race,  and  in  all  probability,  very 
justly  so,  for  such  an  exception  as  Eva  proved  noth- 
ing; but  here  was  an  Englishman,  young,  noble,  very 
rich,  with  every  advantage  of  nature  and  fortune,  and 
he  had  come  out  to  Syria  to  tell  them  that  all  Europe 
was  as  miserable  as  themselves.  What  if  their  misery 
had  been  caused  by  their  deserting  those  divinities 
who  had  once  made  them  so  happy? 

A  great  question;  Fakredeen  indulged  in  endless 
combinations  while  he  smoked  countless  nargilehs.  If 
religion  were  to    cure   the    world,  suppose   they  tried 


TANCRED  343 

this  ancient  and  once  popular  faith,  so  very  popular 
in  Syria.  The  Queen  of  the  Ansarey  could  command 
five-and-twenty  thousand  approved  warriors,  and  the 
Emir  of  the  Lebanon  could  summon  a  host,  if  not  as 
disciplined,  far  more  numerous.  Fakredeen,  in  a 
frenzy  of  reverie,  became  each  moment  more  prac- 
tical. Asian  supremacy,  cosmopolitan  regeneration, 
and  theocratic  equality,  all  gradually  disappeared.  An 
independent  Syrian  kingdom,  framed  and  guarded  by 
a  hundred  thousand  sabres,  rose  up  before  him;  an 
established  Olympian  religion,  which  the  Druses,  at 
his  instigation,  would  embrace,  and  toleration  for  the 
Maronites  till  he  could  bribe  Bishop  Nicodemus  to  ar- 
range a  general  conformity,  and  convert  his  great 
principal  from  the  Patriarch  into  the  Pontiff  of  An- 
tioch.  The  Jews  might  remain,  provided  they  nego- 
tiated a  loan  which  should  consolidate  the  Olympian 
institutions  and  establish  the  Gentile  dynasty  of  Fakre- 
deen and  Astarte. 


CHAPTER   LIV. 


AsTARTE  IS  Jealous. 

HEN  Fakredeen  bade  Tancred  as 
usual  good-night,  his  voice  was  dif- 
ferent from  its  accustomed  tones; 
he  had  rephed  to  Tancred  with 
asperity  several  times  during  the 
evening;  and  when  he  was  separated 
from  his  companion,  he  felt  relieved.  All  unconscious 
of  these  changes  and  symptoms  was  the  heir  of  Bella- 
mont.  Though  grave,  one  indeed  who  never  laughed 
and  seldom  smiled,  Tancred  was  blessed  with  the 
rarest  of  all  virtues,  a  singularly  sweet  temper.  He 
was  grave,  because  he  was  always  thinking,  and 
thinking  of  great  deeds.  But  his  heart  was  soft,  and 
his  nature  most  kind,  and  remarkably  regardful  of  the 
feelings  of  others.  To  wound  them,  however  unin- 
tentionally, would  occasion  him  painful  disturbance. 
Though  naturally  rapid  in  the  perception  of  character, 
his  inexperience  of  life,  and  the  self-examination  in 
which  he  was  so  frequently  absorbed,  tended  to  blunt 
a  little  his  observation  of  others.  With  a  generous  fail- 
ing, which  is  not  uncommon,  he  was  prepared  to  give 
those  whom  he  loved  credit  for  the  virtues  which  he 

(344) 


TANCRED  345 

himself  possessed,  and  the  sentiments  which  he  himself 
extended  to  them.  Being  profound,  steadfast,  and  most 
loyal  in  his  feelings,  he  was  incapable  of  suspecting 
that  his  elected  friend  could  entertain  sentiments  to- 
wards him  less  deep,  less  earnest,  and  less  faithful. 
The  change  in  the  demeanour  of  the  Emir  was,  there- 
fore, unnoticed  by  him.  And  what  might  be  called 
the  sullen  irritability  of  Fakredeen  was  encountered 
with  the  usual  gentleness  and  total  disregard  of  self 
which  always  distinguished  the  behaviour  of  Lord 
Montacute. 

The  next  morning  they  were  invited  by  Astarte  to 
a  hawking  party,  and,  leaving  the  rugged  ravines, 
they  descended  into  a  softer  and  more  cultivated 
country,  where  they  found  good  sport.  Fakredeen 
was  an  accomplished  falconer,  and  loved  to  display 
his  skill  before  the  Queen.  Tancred  was  quite  un- 
practised, but  Astarte  seemed  resolved  that  he  should 
become  experienced  in  the  craft  among  her  mountains, 
which  did  not  please  the  Emir,  as  he  caracoled  in 
sumptuous  dress  on  a  splendid  steed,  with  the  superb 
falcon  resting  on  his  wrist. 

The  princes  dined  again  with  Keferinis;  that,  in- 
deed, was  to  be  their  custom  during  their  stay;  aft- 
erwards, accompanied  by  the  minister,  they  repaired 
to  the  royal  divan,  where  they  had  received  a  gen- 
eral invitation.  Here  they  found  Astarte  alone,  with 
the  exception  of  Cypros  and  her  companions,  who 
worked  with  their  spindles  apart;  and  here,  on  the 
pretext  of  discussing  the  high  topics  on  which  they 
had  repaired  to  Gindarics,  there  was  much  conversa- 
tion on  many  subjects.  Thus  passed  one,  two,  and 
even  three  days;  thus,  in  general,  would  their  hours 
be  occupied  at  Gindarics.     In  the  morning  the  hawks, 


346  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

or  a  visit  to  some  green  valley,  which  was  blessed 
with  a  stream  and  beds  of  oleander,  and  groves  of 
acacia  or  sycamore.  Fakredeen  had  no  cause  to  com- 
plain of  the  demeanour  of  Astarte  towards  him,  for  it 
was  most  gracious  and  encouraging.  Indeed,  he 
pleased  her;  and  she  was  taken,  as  many  had  been, 
by  the  ingenuous  modesty,  the  unaffected  humility, 
the  tender  and  touching  deference  of  his  manner;  he 
seemed  to  watch  her  every  glance,  and  hang  upon 
her  every  accent:  his  sympathy  with  her  was  perfect; 
he  agreed  with  every  sentiment  and  observation  that 
escaped  her.  Blushing,  boyish,  unsophisticated,  yet 
full  of  native  grace,  and  evidently  gifted  with  the 
most  amiable  disposition,  it  was  impossible  not  to 
view  with  interest,  and  even  regard,  one  so  young 
and  so  innocent. 

But  while  the  Emir  had  no  cause  to  be  dissatis- 
fied with  the  demeanour  of  Astarte  to  himself,  he 
could  not  be  unaware  that  her  carriage  to  Tancred 
was  different,  and  he  doubted  whether  the  difference 
was  in  his  favour.  He  hung  on  the  accents  of  As- 
tarte, but  he  remarked  that  the  Queen  hung  upon 
the  accents  of  Tancred,  who,  engrossed  with  great 
ideas,  and  full  of  a  great  purpose,  was  unconscious 
of  what  did  not  escape  the  lynx-like  glance  of  his 
companion.  However,  Fakredeen  was  not,  under  any 
circumstances,  easily  disheartened;  in  the  present  case, 
there  were  many  circumstances  to  encourage  him. 
This  was  a  great  situation;  there  was  room  for  com- 
binations. He  felt  that  he  was  not  unf^ivoured  by 
Astarte;  he  had  confidence,  and  a  just  confidence,  in 
his  power  of  fascination.  He  had  to  combat  a  rival, 
who  was,  perhaps,  not  thinking  of  conquest;  at  any 
rate,  who  was  unconscious  of  success.     Even  had  he 


TANCRED  347 

the  advantage,  which  Fakredeen  was  not  now  dis- 
posed to  admit,  he  might  surely  be  baffled  by  a  com- 
petitor with  a  purpose,  devoting  his  whole  intelligence 
to  his  object,  and  hesitating  at  no  means  to  accom- 
plish it. 

Fakredeen  became  great  friends  with  Keferinis. 
He  gave  up  his  time  and  attentions  much  to  that 
great  personage;  anointed  him  with  the  most  deli- 
cious flattery,  most  dexterously  applied;  consulted  him 
on  great  affairs  which  had  no  existence;  took  his  ad- 
vice on  conjunctures  which  never  could  occur;  assured 
Keferinis  that,  in  his  youth,  the  Emir  Bescheer  had 
impressed  on  him  the  importance  of  cultivating  the 
friendly  feelings  and  obtaining  the  support  of  the  dis- 
tinguished minister  of  the  Ansarey;  gave  him  some 
jewels,  and  made  him  enormous   promises. 

On  the  fourth  day  of  the  visit,  Fakredeen  found 
himself  alone  with  Astarte,  at  least,  without  the  pres- 
ence of  Tancred,  whom  Keferinis  had  detained  in  his 
progress  to  the  royal  apartment.  The  young  Emir 
had  pushed  on,  and  gained  an  opportunity  which  he 
had  long  desired. 

They  were  speaking  of  the  Lebanon;  Fakredeen 
had  been  giving  Astarte,  at  her  request,  a  sketch  of 
Canobia,  and  intimating  his  inexpressible  gratification 
were  she  to  honour  his  castle  with  a  visit;  when, 
somewhat  abruptly,  in  a  suppressed  voice,  and  in  a 
manner  not  wholly  free  from  embarrassment,  Astarte 
said,  'What  ever  surprises  me  is,  that  Darkush,  who 
is  my  servant  at  Damascus,  should  have  communi- 
cated, by  the  faithful  messenger,  that  one  of  the 
princes  seeking  to  visit  Gindarics  was  of  our  beauti- 
ful and  ancient  faith;  for  the  Prince  of  England  has 
assured  me  that  nothing  was  more  unfounded  or  in- 


348  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

deed  impossible;  tliat  the  faith,  ancient  and  beautiful, 
never  prevailed  in  the  land  of  his  fathers;  and  that 
the  reason  why  he  was  acquainted  with  the  god-like 
forms  is,  that  in  his  country  it  is  the  custom  (custom 
to  me  most  singular,  and  indeed  incomprehensible)  to 
educate  the  youth  by  teaching  them  the  ancient 
poems  of  the  Greeks,  poems  quite  lost  to  us,  but  in 
which  are  embalmed  the  sacred  legends.' 

'We  ought  never  to  be  surprised  at  anything  that 
is  done  by  the  English,'  observed  Fakredeen;  'who 
are,  after  all,  in  a  certain  sense,  savages.  Their  coun- 
try produces  nothing;  it  is  an  island,  a  mere  rock, 
larger  than  Malta,  but  not  so  well  fortified.  Every- 
thing they  require  is  imported  from  other  countries; 
they  get  their  corn  from  Odessa,  and  their  wine  from 
the  ports  of  Spain.  I  have  been  assured  at  Beiroot 
that  they  do  not  grow  even  their  own  cotton,  but 
that  I  can  hardly  believe.  Even  their  religion  is  an 
exotic;  and  as  they  are  indebted  for  that  to  Syria,  it 
is  not  surprising  that  they  should  import  their  educa- 
tion from  Greece.' 

'Poor  people!'  exclaimed  the  Queen;  'and  yet 
they  travel;  they  wish  to  improve  themselves?' 

'Darkush,  however,'  continued  Fakredeen,  without 
noticing  the  last  observation  of  Astarte,  'was  not 
wrongly  informed.' 

'Not  wrongly  informed?' 

'No:  one  of  the  princes  who  wished  to  visit 
Gindarics  was,  in  a  certain  sense,  of  the  ancient  and 
beautiful  faith,  but  it  was  not  the  Prince  of  the 
English.' 

'  What  are  these  pigeons  that  you  are  flying  with- 
out letters!'  exclaimed  Astarte,  looking  very  per- 
plexed. 


TANCRED  349 

'Ah!  beautiful  Astarte,'  said  Fakredeen,  with  a 
sigh;  'you  did  not  know  my  mother.' 

'  How  should  I  know  your  mother,  Emir  of  the 
castles  of  Lebanon  ?  Have  I  ever  left  these  moun- 
tains, which  are  dearer  to  me  than  the  pyramids  of 
Egypt  to  the  great  Pasha?  Have  I  ever  looked  upon 
your  women,  Maronite  or  Druse,  walking  in  white 
sheets,  as  if  they  were  the  children  of  ten  thousand 
ghouls;  with  horns  on  their  heads,  as  if  they  were 
the  wild  horses  of  the  desert  ? ' 

'Ask  Keferinis,'  said  Fakredeen,  still  sighing;  'he 
has  been  at  Bteddeen,  the  court  of  the  Emir  Bescheer. 
He  knew  my  mother,  at  least  by  memory.  My 
mother,  beautiful  Astarte,  was  an  Ansarey.' 

'Your  mother  was  an  Ansarey!'  repeated  Astarte, 
in  a  tone  of  infinite  surprise;  'your  mother  an 
Ansarey?     Of  what  family  was  she  a  child?' 

'Ah!'  replied  Fakredeen,  'there  it  is;  that  is  the 
secret  sorrow  of  my  life.  A  mystery  hangs  over  my 
mother,  for  I  lost  both  my  parents  in  extreme  child- 
hood; I  was  at  her  heart,'  he  added,  in  a  broken 
voice,  '  and  amid  outrage,  tumult,  and  war.  Of 
whom  was  my  mother  the  child?  I  am  here  to  dis- 
cover that,  if  possible.  Her  race  and  her  beautiful 
religion  have  been  the  dream  of  my  life.  All  I  have 
prayed  for  has  been  to  recognise  her  kindred  and  to 
behold  her  gods.' 

'It  is  very  interesting,'  murmured  the  Queen. 

'It  is  more  than  interesting,'  sighed  Fakredeen. 
'Ah!  beautiful  Astarte!  if  you  knew  all,  if  you  could 
form  even  the  most  remote  idea  of  what  I  have 
suffered  for  this  unknown  faith;'  and  a  passionate 
tear  quivered  on  the  radiant  cheek  of  the  young 
prince. 


350  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'And  yet  you  came  here  to  preach  the  doctrines 
of  another,'  said  Astarte. 

'I  came  here  to  preach  the  doctrines  of  another!' 
replied  Fakredeen,  with  an  expression  of  contempt; 
his  nostril  dilated,  his  lip  curled  with  scorn.  'This 
mad  Englishman  came  here  to  preach  the  doctrines  of 
another  creed,  and  one  with  which  it  seems  to  me, 
he  has  as  little  connection  as  his  frigid  soil  has  with 
palm  trees.  They  produce  them,  I  am  told,  in  houses 
of  glass,  and  they  force  their  foreign  faith  in  the  same 
manner;  but,  though  they  have  temples,  and  churches, 
and  mosques,  they  confess  they  have  no  miracles; 
they  admit  that  they  never  produced  a  prophet;  they 
own  that  no  God  ever  spoke  to  their  people,  or 
visited  their  land;  and  yet  this  race,  so  peculiarly  fa- 
voured by  celestial  communication,  aspire  to  be  mis- 
sionaries!' 

'1  have  much  misapprehended  you,'  said  Astarte; 
'  1  thought  you  were  both  embarked  in  a  great 
cause.' 

'Ah,  you  learnt  that  from  Darkush!'  quickly  re- 
plied Fakredeen.  'You  see,  beautiful  Astarte,  that  I 
have  no  personal  acquaintance  with  Darkush.  It  was 
the  intendant  of  my  companion  who  was  his  friend; 
and  it  is  through  him  that  Darkush  has  learnt  any- 
thing that  he  has  communicated.  The  mission,  the 
project,  was  not  mine;  but  when  I  found  my  comrade 
had  the  means,  which  had  hitherto  evaded  me,  of 
reaching  Gindarics,  I  threw  no  obstacles  in  his 
crotchety  course.  On  the  contrary,  I  embraced  the 
opportunity  even  with  fervour,  and  far  from  discour- 
aging my  friend  from  views  to  which  I  know  he  is 
fatally,  even  ridiculously,  wedded,  1  looked  forward  to 
this  expedition  as  the  possible  means  of  diverting  his 


TANCRED  351 

mind  from  some  opinions,  and,  I  might  add,  some 
influences,  which  I  am  persuaded  can  eventually  en- 
tail upon  him  nothing  but  disappointment  and  dis- 
grace.' And  here  Fakredeen  shook  his  head,  with 
that  air  of  confidential  mystery  which  so  cleverly 
piques  curiosity. 

'Whatever  may  be  his  fate,'  said  Astarte,  in  atone 
of  seriousness,  '  the  English  prince  does  not  seem  to 
me  to  be  a  person  who  could  ever  experience  dis- 
grace.' 

'No,  no,'  quickly  replied  his  faithful  friend;  'of 
course  I  did  not  speak  of  personal  dishonour.  He  is 
extremely  proud  and  rash,  and  not  in  any  way  a 
practical  man;  but  he  is  not  a  person  who  ever 
would  do  anything  to  be  sent  to  the  bagnio  or  the 
galleys.  What  I  mean  by  disgrace  is,  that  he  is 
mixed  up  with  transactions,  and  connected  with  per- 
sons who  will  damage,  cheapen,  in  a  worldly  sense 
dishonour  him,  destroy  all  his  sources  of  power  and 
influence.  For  instance,  now,  in  his  country,  in  Eng- 
land, a  Jew  is  never  permitted  to  enter  England;  they 
may  settle  in  Gibraltar,  but  in  England,  no.  Well,  it 
is  perfectly  well  known  among  all  those  who  care 
about  these  affairs,  that  this  enterprise  of  his,  this 
religious-politico-military  adventure,  is  merely  under- 
taken because  he  happens  to  be  desperately  enam- 
oured of  a  Jewess  at  Damascus,  whom  he  cannot 
carry  home  as  his  bride.' 

'Enamoured  of  a  Jewess  at  Damascus!'  said  As- 
tarte, turning  pale. 

'To  folly,  to  frenzy;  she  is  at  the  bottom  of  the 
whole  of  this  affair;  she  talks  Cabala  to  him,  and  he 
Nazareny  to  her;  and  so,  between  them,  they  have  in- 
vented this  grand  scheme,  the  conquest  of  Asia,   per- 


352  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

haps  the  world,  with  our  Syrian  sabres,  and  we  are 
to  be  rewarded  for  our  pains  by  eating  passover 
cakes.' 

'What  are  they?' 

'  Festival  bread  of  the  Hebrews,  made  in  the  new 
moon,  with  the  milk  of  he-goats.' 

'What  horrors! ' 

'What  a  reward  for  conquest!' 

'Will  the  Queen  of  the  English  let  one  of  her 
princes  marry  a  Jewess  .? ' 

'Never;  he  will  be  beheaded,  and  she  will  be 
burnt  aUve,  eventually;  but,  in  the  meantime,  a  great 
deal  of  mischief  may  occur,  unless  we  stop  it.' 

'It  certainly  should  be  stopped.* 

'What  amuses  me  most  in  this  affair,'  continued 
Fakredeen,  'is  the  cool  way  in  which  this  English- 
man comes  to  us  for  our  assistance.  First,  he  is  at 
Canobia,  then  at  Gindarics;  we  are  to  do  the  busi- 
ness, and  Syria  is  spoken  of  as  if  it  were  nothing. 
Now  the  fact  is,  Syria  is  the  only  practical  feature  of 
the  case.  There  is  no  doubt  that,  if  we  were  all 
agreed,  if  Lebanon  and  the  Ansarey  were  to  unite, 
we  could  clear  Syria  of  the  Turks,  conquer  the  plain, 
and  carry  the  whole  coast  in  a  campaign,  and  no  one 
would  ever  interfere  to  disturb  us.  Why  should 
they  ?  The  Turks  could  not,  and  the  natives  of  Fran- 
guestan  would  not.  Leave  me  to  manage  them. 
There  is  nothing  in  the  world  I  so  revel  in  as  hocus- 
sing  Guizot  and  Aberdeen.  You  never  heard  of 
Guizot  and  Aberdeen  ?  They  are  the  two  Reis  Eflfen- 
dis  of  the  King  of  the  French  and  the  Queen  of  the 
English.  I  sent  them  an  archbishop  last  year,  one  of 
my  fellows,  Archbishop  Murad,  who  led  them  a 
pretty    dance.      They    nearly    made    me    King    of  the 


TANCRED  3S3 

Lebanon,  to  put  an  end  to  disturbances  which  never 
existed  except  in  the  venerable  Murad's  representa- 
tions.' 

'These  are  strange  things!  Has  she  charms,  this 
Jewess  ?     Very  beautiful,   I  suppose  ? ' 

'The  Englishman  vows  so;  he  is  always  raving  of 
her;  talks  of  her  in  his  sleep.' 

'As  you  say,  it  would  indeed  be  strange  to  draw 
our  sabres  for  a  Jewess.     Is  she  dark  or  fair.?' 

'1  think,  when  he  writes  verses  to  her,  he  always 
calls  her  a  moon  or  a  star;  that  smacks  nocturnal  and 
somewhat  sombre.' 

'I  detest  the  Jews;  but  I  have  heard  their  women 
are  beautiful.' 

'  We  will  banish  them  all  from  our  kingdom  of 
Syria,'  said  Fakredeen,  looking  at  Astarte  earnestly. 

'Why,  if  we  are  to  make  a  struggle,  it  should 
be  for  something.  There  have  been  Syrian  king- 
doms.' 

'And  shall  be,  beauteous  Queen,  and  you  shall 
rule  them.  I  believe  now  the  dream  of  my  life  will 
be  realised.' 

'  Why,  what's  that  ?  ' 

'  My  mother's  last  aspiration,  the  dying  legacy  of 
her  passionate  soul,  known  only  to  me,  and  never 
breathed  to  human  being  until  this  moment.' 

'Then  you  recollect  your  mother.?' 

'It  was  my  nurse,  long  since  dead,  who  was  the 
depositary  of  the  injunction,  and  in  due  time  conveyed 
it  to  me.' 

'  And  what  was  it  ?  ' 

'  To  raise,  at  Deir  el  Kamar,  the  capital  of  our 
district,  a  marble  temple  to  the  Syrian  goddess.' 

'  Beautiful  idea ! ' 

i6    B.  D.— 23 


354  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'It  would  have  drawn  back  the  mountain  to  the 
ancient  faith;  the  Druses  are  half-prepared,  and  wait 
only  my  word.' 

'But  the  Nazareny  bishops,'  said  the  Queen, 
'whom  you  find  so  useful,  what  will  they  say?' 

'  What  did  the  priests  and  priestesses  of  the  Syrian 
goddess  say,  when  Syria  became  Christian  ?  They 
turned  into  bishops  and  nuns.  Let  them  turn  back 
again.' 


CHAPTER     LV. 
Capture  of  a  Harem. 

ANCRED  and  Fakredeen  had  been 
absent  from  Gindarics  for  two  or 
three  days,  making  an  excursion  in 
\^  the  neighbouring  districts,  and  vis- 
Jj  iting  several  of  those  chieftains 
whose  future  aid  might  be  of  much 
importance  to  them.  Away  from  the  unconscious 
centre  of  many  passions  and  intrigues,  excited  by  the 
novelty  of  their  life,  sanguine  of  the  ultimate  triumph 
of  his  manoeuvres,  and  at  times  still  influenced  by  his 
companion,  the  demeanour  of  the  young  Emir  of  Leb- 
anon to  his  friend  resumed  something  of  its  wonted 
softness,  confidence,  and  complaisance.  They  were 
once  more  in  sight  of  the  wild  palace-fort  of  Astarte; 
spurring  their  horses,  they  dashed  before  their  attend- 
ants over  the  plain,  and  halted  at  the  huge  portal  of 
iron,  while  the  torches  were  lit,  and  preparations 
were  made  for  the  passage  of  the  covered  way. 

When  they  entered  the  principal  court,  there  were 
unusual  appearances  of  some  recent  and  considerable 
occurrence:  groups  of  Turkish  soldiers,  disarmed,  re- 
clining camels,  baggage  and  steeds,  and  many  of  the 
armed  tribes  of  the  mountain. 

(355) 


2S^  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'What  is  all  this?'  inquired  Fakredeen. 

"Tis  the  harem  of  the  Pasha  of  Aleppo,'  replied 
a  warrior,  '  captured  on  the  plain,  and  carried  up  into 
the  mountains  to  our  Queen  of  queens.' 

'  The  war  begins/  said  Fakredeen,  looking  round 
at  Tancred  with  a  glittering  eye. 

'Women  make  war  on  women,'  he  replied. 

"Tis  the  first  step,'  said  the  Emir,  dismounting; 
'1  care  not  how  it  comes.  Women  are  at  the  bot- 
tom of  everything.  If  it  had  not  been  for  the  Sultana 
Mother,  I  should  have  now  been  Prince  of  the  Moun- 
tain.' 

When  they  had  regained  their  apartments  the 
lordly  Keferinis  soon  appeared,  to  offer  them  his  con- 
gratulations on  their  return.  The  minister  was  pecul- 
iarly refined  and  mysterious  this  morning,  especially 
with  respect  to  the  great  event,  which  he  involved 
in  so  much  of  obscurity,  that,  after  much  conversa- 
tion, the  travellers  were  as  little  acquainted  with  the 
occurrence  as  when  they  entered  the  courtyard  of 
Gindarics. 

'The  capture  of  a  pasha's  harem  is  not  water 
spilt  on  sand,  lordly  Keferinis,'  said  the  Emir.  'We 
shall  hear  more  of  this.' 

'What  we  shall  hear,'  replied  Keferinis,  'is  en- 
tirely an  affair  of  the  future;  nor  is  it  in  any  way  to 
be  disputed  that  there  are  few  men  who  do  not  find 
it  more  difficult  to  foretell  what  is  to  happen  than  to 
remember  what  has  taken  place.' 

'We  sometimes  find  that  memory  is  as  rare  a 
quality  as  prediction,'  said  Tancred. 

'In  England,'  replied  the  lordly  Keferinis;  'but  it 
is  never  to  be  forgotten,  and  indeed,  on  the  contrary, 
should  be  entirely  recollected,  that  the  English,   being 


TANCRED  357 

a  new  people,  have  nothing  indeed  which  they  can 
remember.' 

Tancred  bowed. 

'And  how  is  the  most  gracious  lady,  Queen  of 
queens?'  inquired  Fakredeen. 

'The  most  gracious  lady,  Queen  of  queens,'  re- 
plied Keferinis,  very  mysteriously,  '  has  at  this  time 
many  thoughts.' 

'If  she  require  any  aid,'  said  Fakredeen,  'there  is 
not  a  musket  in  Lebanon  that  is   not  at  her  service.' 

Keferinis  bent  his  head,  and  said,  'It  is  not  in  any 
way  to  be  disputed  that  there  are  subjects  which 
require  for  their  management  the  application  of  a  cer- 
tain degree  of  force,  and  the  noble  Emir  of  the  Leb- 
anon has  expressed  himself  in  that  sense  with  the 
most  exact  propriety;  there  are  also  subjects  which 
are  regulated  by  the  application  of  a  certain  number 
of  words,  provided  they  were  well  chosen,  and  dis- 
tinguished by  an  inestimable  exactitude.  It  does  not 
by  any  means  follow  that  from  what  has  occurred 
there  will  be  sanguinary  encounters  between  the  peo- 
ple of  the  gracious  lady.  Queen  of  queens,  and  those 
that  dwell  in  plains  and  cities;  nor  can  it  be  denied 
that  war  is  a  means  by  which  many  things  are  brought 
to  a  final  conjuncture.  At  the  same  time  courtesy 
has  many  charms,  even  for  the  Turks,  though  it  is  not 
to  be  denied,  or  in  any  way  concealed,  that  a  Turk, 
especially  if  he  be  a  pasha,  is,  of  all  obscene  and  ut- 
ter children  of  the  devil,  the  most  entirely  contempti- 
ble and  thoroughly  to  be  execrated.' 

'  If  1  were  the  Queen,  I  would  not  give  up  the  ha- 
rem,' said  Fakredeen;  'and  I  would  bring  affairs  to  a 
crisis.  The  garrison  at  Aleppo  is  not  strong;  they 
have  been  obliged  to   march  six   regiments  to  Deir  el 


358  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

Kamar,  and,  though  affairs  are  comparatively  tranquil 
in  Lebanon  for  the  moment,  let  me  send  a  pigeon  to 
my  cousin  Francis  El  Kazin,  and  young  Syria  will 
get  up  such  a  stir  that  old  Wageah  Pasha  will  not 
spare  a  single  man.  I  will  have  fifty  bonfires  on  the 
mountain  near  Beiroot  in  one  night,  and  Colonel 
Rose  will  send  off  a  steamer  to  Sir  Canning  to  tell 
him  there  is  a  revolt  in  the  Lebanon,  with  a  double 
despatch  for  Aberdeen,  full  of  smoking  villages  and 
slaughtered  women!'  and  the  young  Emir  inhaled  his 
nargileh  with  additional  zest  as  he  recollected  the 
triumphs  of  his  past  mystifications. 

At  sunset  it  was  announced  to  the  travellers  that 
the  Queen  would  receive  them.  Astarte  appeared 
much  gratified  by  their  return,  was  very  gracious,  al- 
though in  a  different  way,  to  both  of  them,  inquired 
much  as  to  what  they  had  seen  and  what  they  had 
done,  with  whom  they  had  conversed,  and  what  had 
been  said.  At  length  she  observed,  'Something  has 
also  happened  at  Gindarics  in  your  absence,  noble 
princes.  Last  night  they  brought  part  of  a  harem  of 
the  Pasha  of  Aleppo  captive  hither.  This  may  lead 
to  events.' 

'  1  have  already  ventured  to  observe  to  the  lordly 
Keferinis,'  said  Fakredeen,  'that  every  lance  in  the 
Lebanon  is  at  your  command,  gracious  Queen.' 

'We  have  lances,'  said  Astarte;  'it  is  not  of  that  I 
was  thinking.  Nor  indeed  do  1  care  to  prolong  a 
quarrel  for  this  capture.  If  the  Pasha  will  renounce 
the  tribute  of  the  villages,  1  am  for  peace;  if  he  will 
not,  we  will  speak  of  those  things  of  which  there  has 
been  counsel  between  us.  I  do  not  wish  this  affair  of 
the  harem  to  be  mixed  up  with  what  has  preceded 
it.    My  principal  captive  is  a  most  beautiful  woman,  and 


TANCRED  359 

one,  too,  that  greatly  interests  and  charms  me.  She 
is  not  a  Turk,  but,  I  apprehend,  a  Christian  lady  of 
the  cities.  She  is  plunged  in  grief,  and  weeps  some- 
times with  so  much  bitterness  that  I  quite  share  her 
sorrow;  but  it  is  not  so  much  because  she  is  a  captive, 
but  because  some  one,  who  is  most  dear  to  her,  has 
been  slain  in  this  fray.  I  have  visited  her,  and  tried 
to  console  her;  and  begged  her  to  forget  her  grief  and 
become  my  companion.  But  nothing  soothes  her, 
and  tears  flow  for  ever  from  eyes  which  are  the  most 
beautiful  I  ever  beheld.' 

'This  is  the  land  of  beautiful  eyes,'  said  Tancred, 
and  Astarte  almost  unconsciously  glanced  at  the 
speaker, 

Cypros,  who  had  quitted  the  attendant  maidens 
immediately  on  the  entrance  of  the  two  princes,  after 
an  interval,  returned.  There  was  some  excitement  on 
her  countenance  as  she  approached  her  mistress,  and 
addressed  Astarte  in  a  hushed  but  hurried  tone.  It 
seemed  that  the  fair  captive  of  the  Queen  of  the 
Ansarey  had  most  unexpectedly  expressed  to  Cypros 
her  wish  to  repair  to  the  divan  of  the  Queen,  al- 
though, the  whole  day,  she  had  frequently  refused  to 
descend.  Cypros  feared  that  the  presence  of  the  two 
guests  of  her  mistress  might  prove  an  obstacle  to  the 
fulfilment  of  this  wish,  as  the  freedom  of  social  inter- 
course that  prevailed  among  the  Ansarey  was  un- 
known even  among  the  ever-veiled  women  of  the 
Maronites  and  Druses.  But  the  fair  captive  had  no 
prejudices  on  this  head,  and  Cypros  had  accordingly 
descended  to  request  the  royal  permission,  or  consult 
the  royal  will.  Astarte  spoke  to  Keferinis,  who  lis- 
tened with  an  air  of  great  profundity,  and  finally 
bowed  assent,  and  Cypros  retired. 


36o  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

Astarte  had  signified  to  Tancred  her  wish  that  he 
should  approach  her,  while  Keferinis  at  some  distance 
was  engaged  in  earnest  conversation  with  Fakredeen, 
with  whom  he  had  not  had  previously  the  oppor- 
tunity of  being  alone.  His  report  of  all  that  had 
transpired  in  his  absence  was  highly  favourable.  The 
minister  had  taken  the  opportunity  of  the  absence  of 
the  Emir  and  his  friend  to  converse  often  and  amply 
about  them  with  the  Queen.  The  idea  of  an  united 
Syria  was  pleasing  to  the  imagination  of  the  young 
sovereign.  The  suggestion  was  eminently  practicable. 
It  required  no  extravagant  combinations,  no  hazardous 
chances  of  fortune,  nor  fine  expedients  of  political 
skill.  A  union  between  Fakredeen  and  Astarte  at 
once  connected  the  most  important  interests  of  the 
mountains  without  exciting  the  alarm  or  displeasure 
of  other  powers.  The  union  was  as  legitimate  as  it 
would  ultimately  prove  irresistible.  It  ensured  a  re- 
spectable revenue  and  a  considerable  force;  and,  with 
prudence  and  vigilance,  the  occasion  would  soon  offer 
to  achieve  all  the  rest.  On  the  next  paroxysm  in  the 
dissolving  empire  of  the  Ottomans,  the  plain  would 
be  occupied  by  a  warlike  population  descending  from 
the  mountains  that  commanded  on  one  side  the  whole 
Syrian  coast,  and  on  the  other  all  the  inland  cities 
from  Aleppo  to  Damascus. 

The  eye  of  the  young  Emir  glittered  with  triumph 
as  he  listened  to  the  oily  sentences  of  the  eunuch. 
'Lebanon,'  he  whispered,  'is  the  key  of  Syria,  my 
Keferinis,  never  forget  that;  and  we  will  lock  up  the 
land.  Let  us  never  sleep  till  this  affair  is  achieved. 
You  think  she  does  not  dream  of  a  certain  person, 
eh?  I  tell  you,  he  must  go,  or  we  must  get  rid  of 
him:    I   fear  him   not,  but  he  is  in  the  way;  and  the 


TANCRED  361 

way  should  be  smooth  as  the  waters  of  El  Arish. 
Remember  the  temple  to  the  Syrian  goddess  at  Deir 
el  Kamar,  my  Keferinis!  The  religion  is  half  the 
battle.  How  1  shall  delight  to  get  rid  of  my  bishops 
and  those  accursed  monks:  drones,  drivellers,  bigots, 
drinking  my  golden  wine  of  Canobia,  and  smoking 
my  delicate  Latakia.  You  know  not  Canobia,  Keferinis; 
but  you  have  heard  of  it.  You  have  been  at  Bted- 
deen  ?  Well,  Bteddeen  to  Canobia  is  an  Arab  moon 
to  a  Syrian  sun.  The  marble  alone  at  Canobia  cost  a 
million  of  piastres.  The  stables  are  worthy  of  the 
steeds  of  Solomon.  You  may  kill  anything  you  like 
in  the  forest,  from  panthers  to  antelopes.  Listen,  my 
Keferinis,  let  this  be  done,  and  done  quickly,  and 
Canobia  is  yours.' 

'Do  you  ever  dream?'  said  Astrate  to  Tancred. 

'They  say  that  life  is  a  dream.' 

*I  sometimes  wish  it  were.  Its  pangs  are  too 
acute  for  a  shadow.' 

'But  you  have  no  pangs.' 

'I  had  a  dream  when  you  were  away,  in  which  I 
was  much  alarmed,'  said  Astarte. 

'Indeed! ' 

'  I  thought  that  Gindarics  was  taken  by  the  Jews. 
I  suppose  you  have  talked  of  them  to  me  so  much 
that  my  slumbering  memory  wandered.' 

'  It  is  a  resistless  and  exhaustless  theme,'  said  Tan- 
cred; 'for  the  greatness  and  happiness  of  everything, 
Gindarics  included,  are  comprised  in  the  principles  of 
which  they  were  the  first  propagators.' 

'  Nevertheless,  I  should  be  sorry  if  my  dream  came 
to  be  true,'  said  Astarte. 

'May  your  dreams  be  as  bright  and  happy  as  your 
lot,  royal  lady!'  said  Tancred. 


362  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'My  lot  is  not  bright  and  happy,'  said  the  Queen; 
'once  I  thought  it  was,  but  1  think  so  no  longer.' 

'But  why  ?' 

M  wish  you  could  have  a  dream  and  find  out,' 
said  the  Queen.  '  Disquietude  is  sometimes  as  per- 
plexing as  pleasure.     Both  come  and  go  like  birds.' 

'Like  the  pigeon  you  sent  to  Damascus,'  said  Tan- 
cred. 

'Ah!  why  did  I  send  it?' 

'Because  you  were  most  gracious,  lady.' 

'Because  I  was  very  rash,  noble  prince.' 

'  When  the  great  deeds  are  done  to  which  this 
visit  will  lead,  you  will  not  think  so.' 

'I  am  not  born  for  great  deeds;  I  am  a  woman, 
and  I  am  content  with  beautiful  ones.' 

'You  still  dream  of  the  Syrian  goddess,'  said  Tan- 
cred. 

'No;  not  of  the  Syrian  goddess.  Tell  me:  they  say 
the  Hebrew  women  are  very  lovely,  is  it  so?' 

'They  have  that  reputation.' 

'But  do  you  think  so?' 

'  I  have  known  some  distinguished  for  their  beauty.' 

'Do  they  resemble  the  statue  in  our  temple?' 

'Their  style  is  different,'  said  Tancred;  'the  Greek 
and  the  Hebrew  are  both  among  the  highest  types  of 
the  human  form.' 

'But  you  prefer  the  Hebrew?' 

'I  am  not  so  discriminating  a  critic,'  said  Tancred; 
'I  admire  the  beautiful.' 

'Well,  here  comes  my  captive,'  said  the  Queen; 
'  if  you  like,  you  shall  free  her,  for  she  wonderfully 
takes  me.  She  is  a  Georgian,  I  suppose,  and  bears 
the  palm  from  all  of  us.  I  will  not  presume  to  con- 
tend  with    her:    she   would    vanquish,    perhaps,  even 


TANCRED 


3^3 


that  fair  Jewess  of  whom,  I  hear,  you  are    so   enam- 
oured.' 

Tancred  started,  and  would  have  replied,  but  Cy- 
pros  adv,anced  at  this  moment  with  her  charge,  who 
withdrew  her  veil  as  she  seated  herself,  as  commanded, 
before  the  Queen.  She  withdrew  her  veil,  and  Fak- 
redeen  and  Tancred  beheld  Eva! 


CHAPTER    LVI 


Eva  a  Captive. 

^I  ONE  of  a  series  of  chambers  ex- 
cavated in  the  mountains,  yet  con- 
nected with  the  more  artificial 
portion  of  the  palace,  chambers 
and  galleries  which  in  the  course  of 
}ges  had  served  for  many  purposes, 
sometimes  of  security,  sometimes  of  punishment;  treas- 
uries not  unfrequently,  and  occasionally  prisons;  in 
one  of  these  vast  cells,  feebly  illumined  from  apertures 
above,  lying  on  a  rude  couch  with  her  countenance 
hidden,  motionless  and  miserable,  was  the  beautiful 
daughter  of  Besso,  one  who  had  been  bred  in  all  the 
delights  of  the  most  refined  luxury,  and  in  the  enjoy- 
ment of  a  freedom  not  common  in  any  land,  and 
most  rare  among  the  Easterns. 

The  events  of  her  life  had  been  so  strange  and 
rapid  during  the  last  few  days  that,  even  amid  her 
woe,  she  revolved  in  her  mind  their  startling  import. 
It  was  little  more  than  ten  days  since,  under  the 
guardianship  of  her  father,  she  had  commenced  her 
journey  from  Damascus  to  Aleppo.  When  they  had 
proceeded  about  half  way,  they  were  met  at  the  city 
of  Horns  by  a  detachment  of  Turkish  soldiers,  sent  by 
(364) 


TANCRED  36s 

the  Pasha  of  Aleppo,  at  the  request  of  Hillel  Besso,  to 
escort  them,  the  country  being  much  troubled  in  con- 
sequence of  the  feud  with  the  Ansarey.  Notwith- 
standing these  precautions,  and  although,  from  the 
advices  they  received,  they  took  a  circuitous  and  un- 
expected course,  they  were  attacked  by  the  moun- 
taineers within  half  a  day's  journey  of  Aleppo;  and 
with  so  much  strength  and  spirit,  that  their  guards, 
after  some  resistance,  fled  and  dispersed,  while  Eva 
and  her  attendants,  after  seeing  her  father  cut  down 
in  her  defence,  was  carried  a  prisoner  to  Gindarics. 

Overwhelmed  by  the  fate  of  her  father,  she  was  at 
first  insensible  to  her  own,  and  was  indeed  so  dis- 
tracted that  she  delivered  herself  up  to  despair.  She 
was  beginning  in  some  degree  to  collect  her  senses, 
and  to  survey  her  position  with  some  comparative 
calmness,  when  she  learnt  from  the  visit  of  Cypros 
that  Fakredeen  and  Tancred  were,  by  a  strange  coin- 
cidence, under  the  same  roof  as  herself.  Then  she 
recalled  the  kind  sympathy  and  offers  of  consolation 
that  had  been  evinced  and  proffered  to  her  by  the 
mistress  of  the  castle,  to  whose  expressions  at  the 
time  she  had  paid  but  an  imperfect  attention.  Under 
these  circumstances  she  earnestly  requested  permission 
to  avail  herself  of  a  privilege,  which  had  been  pre- 
viously offered  and  refused,  to  become  the  companion, 
rather  than  the  captive,  of  the  Queen  of  the  Ansarey; 
so  that  she  might  find  some  opportunity  of  communi- 
cating with  her  two  friends,  of  inquiring  about  her 
father,  and  of  consulting  with  them  as  to  the  best 
steps  to  be  adopted  in  her  present  exigency. 

The  interview,  from  which  so  much  was  antici- 
pated, had  turned  out  as  strange  and  as  distressful  as 
any  of  the  recent    incidents  to  which    it  was  to  have 


366  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

brought  balm  and  solace.  Recognised  instantly  by 
Tancred  and  the  young  Emir,  and  greeted  with  a 
tender  respect,  almost  equal  to  the  surprise  and  sor- 
row which  they  felt  at  beholding  her,  Astarte,  hitherto 
so  unexpectedly  gracious  to  her  captive,  appeared 
suddenly  agitated,  excited,  haughty,  even  hostile. 
The  Queen  had  immediately  summoned  Fakredeen  to 
her  side,  and  there  passed  between  them  some  hur- 
ried and  perturbed  explanations;  subsequently  she  ad- 
dressed some  inquiries  to  Tancred,  to  which  he  replied 
without  reserve.  Soon  afterwards,  Astarte,  remaining 
intent  and  moody,  the  court  was  suddenly  broken  up; 
Keferinis  signifying  to  the  young  men  that  they  should 
retire,  while  Astarte,  without  bestowing  on  them  her 
usual  farewell,  rose,  and,  followed  by  her  maidens, 
quitted  the  chamber.  As  for  Eva,  instead  of  return- 
ing to  one  of  the  royal  apartments  which  had  been 
previously  allotted  to  her,  she  was  conducted  to  what 
was  in  fact  a  prison. 

There  she  had  passed  the  night  and  a  portion  of 
the  ensuing  day,  visited  only  by  Cypros,  who,  when 
Eva  would  have  inquired  the  cause  of  all  this  myste- 
rious cruelty  and  startling  contrast  to  the  dispositions 
which  had  preceded  it,  only  shook  her  head  and 
pressed  her  finger  to  her  lip,  to  signify  the  impossi- 
bility of  her  conversing  with  her  captive. 

It  was  one  of  those  situations  where  the  most 
gifted  are  deserted  by  their  intelligence;  where  there 
is  as  little  to  guide  as  to  console;  where  the  mystery 
is  as  vast  as  the  misfortune;  and  the  tortured  appre- 
hension finds  it  impossible  to  grapple  with  irresistible 
circumstances. 

In  this  state,  the  daughter  of  Besso,  plunged  in  a 
dark  reverie,  in  which  the  only  object   visible   to   her 


TANCRED  367 

mind's  eye  was  the  last  glance  of  her  dying  father, 
was  roused  from  her  approaching  stupor  by  a  sound, 
distinct,  yet  muffled,  as  if  some  one  wished  to  at- 
tract her  attention,  without  startling  her  by  too  sud- 
den an  interruption.  She  looked  up;  again  she  heard 
the  sound,  and  then,  in  a  whispered  tone,  her 
name 

'Eva! ' 

'I  am  here.' 

'Hush!'  said  a  figure,  stealing  into  the  caverned 
chamber,  and  then  throwing  off  his  Syrian  cloak,  re- 
vealing to  her  one  whom  she  recognised. 

'Fakredeen,'  she  said,  starting  from  her  couch, 
'what  is  all  this?' 

The  countenance  of  Fakredeen  was  distressed  and 
agitated;  there  was  an  expression  of  alarm,  almost  of 
terror,  stamped  upon  his  features. 

'You  must  follow  me,'  he  said;  'there  is  not  a 
moment  to  lose;  you  must  fly!' 

'Why  and  whither?'  said  Eva.  'This  capture  is 
one  of  plunder  not  of  malice,  or  was  so  a  few  hours 
back.  It  is  not  sorrow  for  myself  that  overwhelmed 
me.  But  yesterday,  the  sovereign  of  these  mountains 
treated  me  with  a  generous  sympathy,  and,  if  it 
brought  me  no  solace,  it  was  only  because  events 
have  borne,  I  fear,  irremediable  woe.  And  now  I 
suddenly  find  myself  among  my  friends;  friends,  who, 
of  all  others,  I  should  most  have  wished  to  encounter 
at  this  moment,  and  all  is  changed.  I  am  a  prisoner, 
under  every  circumstance  of  harshness,  even  of  cruelty, 
and  you  speak  to  me  as  if  my  life,  my  immediate 
existence,  was  in   peril.' 

'It  is.' 

'  But  why?' 


368  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

Fakredeen  wrung  his  hands,  and  murmured,  '  Let 
us  go.' 

'I  scarcely  care  to  live,'  said  Eva;  'and  1  will  not 
move  until  you  give  me  some  clue  to  all  this  mys- 
tery.' 

'Well,  then,  she  is  jealous  of  you;  the  Queen,  As- 
tarte;  she  is  jealous  of  you  with  the  English  prince, 
that  man  who  has  brought  us  all  so  many  vexations.' 

Ms  it  he  that  has  brought  us  so  many  vexations?' 
replied  Eva.  'The  Queen  jealous  of  me,  and  with 
the  English  prince!  'Tis  very  strange.  We  scarcely 
exchanged  a  dozen  sentences  together,  when  all  was 
disturbed  and  broken  up.  Jealous  of  me!  Why,  then, 
was  she  anxious  that  1  should  descend  to  her  divan.? 
This  is  not  the  truth,  Fakredeen.' 

'Not  all;  but  it  is  the  truth;  it  is,  indeed.  The 
Queen  is  jealous  of  you:  she  is  in  love  with  Tancred; 
a  curse  be  on  him  and  her  both!  and  somebody  has 
told  her  that  Tancred  is  in  love  with  you.' 

'Somebody!     When  did  they  tell  her?' 

'Long  ago;  long  ago.  She  knew,  that  is,  she  had 
been  told,  that  Tancred  was  affianced  to  the  daughter 
of  Besso  of  Damascus;  and  so  this  sudden  meeting 
brought  about  a  crisis.  I  did  what  I  could  to  prevent 
it;  vowed  that  you  were  only  the  cousin  of  the  Besso 
that  she  meant;  did  everything,  in  short,  I  could  to 
serve  and  save  you;  but  it  was  of  no  use.  She  was 
wild,  is  wild,  and  your  life  is  in  peril.' 

Eva  mused  a  moment.  Then,  looking  up,  she 
said,  'Fakredeen,  it  is  you  who  told  the  Queen  this 
story.  You  are  the  somebody  who  has  invented  this 
fatal  falsehood.  What  was  your  object  I  care  not  to 
inquire,  knowing  full  well,  that,  if  you  had  an  object, 
you  never  would  spare  friend  or   foe.      Leave   me.      I 


TANCRED  369 

have  little  wish  to  live;  but  I  believe  in  the  power  of 
truth.  I  will  confront  the  Queen  and  tell  her  all. 
She  will  credit  what  I  say;  if  she  do  not,  I  can  meet 
my  fate;  but  I  will  not,  now  or  ever,  entrust  it  to 
you.' 

Thereupon  Fakredeen  burst  into  a  flood  of  pas- 
sionate tears,  and,  throwing  himself  on  the  ground, 
kissed  Eva's  feet,  and  clung  to  her  garments  which 
he  embraced,  sobbing,  and  moaning,  and  bestowing 
on  her  endless  phrases  of  affection,  mixed  with  im- 
precations on  his  own  head  and  conduct. 

'O  Eva!  my  beloved  Eva,  sister  of  my  soul,  it  is 
of  no  use  telling  you  any  lies!  Yes,  1  am  that  villain 
and  that  idiot  who  has  brought  about  all  this  misery, 
misery  enough  to  turn  me  mad,  and  which,  by  a 
just  retribution,  has  destroyed  all  the  brilliant  fortunes 
which  were  at  last  opening  on  me.  This  Frank 
stranger  was  the  only  bar  to  my  union  with  the  sov- 
ereign of  these  mountains,  whose  beauty  you  have 
witnessed,  whose  power,  combined  with  my  own, 
would  found  a  kingdom.  1  wished  to  marry  her. 
You  cannot  be  angry  with  me,  Eva,  for  that.  You 
know  very  well  that,  if  you  had  married  me  your- 
self, we  should  neither  of  us  have  been  in  the  horri- 
ble situation  in  which  we  now  find  ourselves.  Ah! 
that  would  have  been  a  happy  union!  But  let  that 
pass.  I  have  always  been  the  most  unfortunate  of 
men;  I  have  never  had  justice  done  me.  Well,  she 
loved  this  prince  of  Franguestan.  I  saw  it;  nothing 
escapes  me.  I  let  her  know  that  he  was  devoted  to 
another.  Why  1  mentioned  your  name  I  cannot  well 
say;  perhaps  because  it  was  the  first  that  occurred  to 
me;  perhaps  because  I  have  a  lurking  suspicion  that 
he    really    does   love   you.     The   information   worked. 

16    B.  D.— 24 


370  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

My  own  suit  prospered.  I  bribed  her  minister.  He 
is  devoted  to  me.  All  was  smiling.  How  could  I 
possibly  have  anticipated  that  you  would  ever  arrive 
here!  When  I  saw  you,  I  felt  that  all  was  lost.  I 
endeavoured  to  rally  affairs,  but  it  was  useless.  Tan- 
cred  has  no  finesse;  his  replies  neutralised,  nay,  de- 
stroyed, all  my  counter  representations.  The  Queen 
is  a  whirlwind.  She  is  young;  she  has  never  been 
crossed  in  her  life.  You  cannot  argue  with  her  when 
her  heart  is  touched.  In  short,  all  is  ruined;'  and 
Fakredeen  hid   his  weeping   face  in  the  robes  of  Eva. 

'What  misery  you  prepare  for  yourself,  and  for 
all  who  know  you!'  exclaimed  Eva.  'But  that  has 
happened  which  makes  me  insensible  to  further 
grief.' 

'Yes;  but  listen  to  what  I  say,  and  all  will  go 
right.  I  do  not  care  in  the  least  for  my  own  disap- 
pointment. That  now  is  nothing.  It  is  you,  it  is  of 
you  only  that  I  think,  whom  I  wish  to  save.  Do 
not  chide  me:  pardon  me,  pardon  me,  as  you  have 
done  a  thousand  times;  pardon  and  pity  me.  I  am 
so  young  and  really  so  inexperienced;  after  all,  I  am 
only  a  child;  besides,  I  have  not  a  friend  in  the 
world  except  you.  I  am  a  villain,  a  fool;  all  villains 
are.  I  know  it.  But  I  cannot  help  it.  I  did  not 
make  myself.  The  question  now  is.  How  are  we  to 
get  out  of  this  scrape?  How  are  we  to  save  your 
life?' 

'  Do  you  really  mean,  Fakredeen,  that  my  life  is 
in  peril?' 

'Yes,  I  do,'  said  the  Emir,  crying  like  a  child. 

'  You  do  not  know  the  power  of  truth,  Fakre- 
deen. You  have  no  confidence  in  it.  Let  me  see 
the  Queen.' 


TANCRED  371 

'Impossible!'  he  said,  starting  up,  and  looking 
very  much  alarmed. 

'Why?' 

'  Because,  in  the  first  place,  she  is  mad.  Kefe- 
rinis,  that  is,  her  minister,  one  of  my  creatures,  and 
the  only  person  who  can  manage  her,  told  me  this 
moment  that  it  was  a  perfect  Kamsin,  and  that,  if  he 
approached  her  again,  it  would  be  at  his  own  risk; 
and,  in  the  second  place,  bad  as  things  are,  they 
would  necessarily  be  much  worse  if  she  saw  you, 
because  (and  it  is  of  no  use  concealing  it  any  longer) 
she  thinks  you  already  dead.' 

'Dead!     Already  dead! ' 

'Yes.' 

'And  where  is  your  friend  and  companion?'  said 
Eva.     'Does  he  know  of  these  horrors?' 

'No  one  knows  of  them  except  myself  The 
Queen  sent  for  me  last  night  to  speak  to  me  of  the 
subject  generally.  It  was  utterly  vain  to  attempt  to 
disabuse  her;  it  would  only  have  compromised  all  of 
us.  She  would  only  have  supposed  the  truth  to  be 
an  invention  for  the  moment.  I  found  your  fate 
sealed.  In  my  desperation,  the  only  thing  that  oc- 
curred to  me  was  to  sympathise  with  her  indignation 
and  approve  of  all  her  projects.  She  apprised  me 
that  you  should  not  hve  four-and-twenty  hours.  I 
rather  stimulated  her  vengeance,  told  her  in  secresy 
that  your  house  had  nearly  effected  my  ruin,  and  that 
there  was  no  sacrifice  I  would  not  make,  and  no 
danger  that  I  would  not  encounter,  to  wreak  on  your 
race  my  long-cherished  revenge.  I  assured  her  that  I 
had  been  watching  my  opportunity  for  years.  Well, 
you  see  how  it  is,  Eva;  she  consigned  to  me  the 
commission  which  she  would  have  whispered  to  one 


372  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

of  her  slaves.  I  am  here  with  her  cognisance;  in- 
deed, by  this  time  she  thinks  'tis  all  over.  You  com- 
prehend?' 

'You  are  to  be  my  executioner?' 

'Yes;  I  have  undertaken  that  office  in  order  to 
save  your  life.' 

'  I  care  not  to  save  my  life.  What  is  life  to  me, 
since  he  perhaps  is  gone  who  gave  me  that  life,  and 
for  whom  alone  1  lived!' 

'O  Eva!  Eva!  don't  distract  me;  don't  drive  me 
absolutely  mad!  When  a  man  is  doing  what  I  am 
for  your  sake,  giving  up  a  kingdom,  and  more  than 
a  kingdom,  to  treat  him  thus!  But  you  never  did  me 
justice.'  And  Fakredeen  poured  forth  renewed  tears. 
'Keferinis  is  in  my  pay;  I  have  got  the  signet  of  the 
covered  way.  Here  are  two  Mamlouk  dresses;  one 
you  must  put  on.  Without  the  gates  are  two  good 
steeds,  and  in  eight-and-forty  hours  we  shall  be  safe, 
and  smiling  again.' 

'I  shall  never  smile  again,'  said  Eva.  'No,  Fakre- 
deen,' she  added,  after  a  moment's  pause,  'I  will  not 
fly,  and  you  cannot  fly.  Can  you  leave  alone  in  this 
wild  place  that  friend,  too  faithful,  1  believe,  whom 
you  have  been  the  means  of  leading  hither?' 

'Never  mind  him,'  said  the  Emir.  'I  wish  we 
had  never  seen  him.  He  is  quite  safe.  She  may 
keep  him  a  prisoner  perhaps.  What  then  ?  He 
makes  so  discreet  a  use  of  his  liberty  that  a  little 
durance  will  not  be  very  injurious.  His  life  will  be 
safe  enough.  Cutting  off  his  head  is  not  the  way 
to  gain  his  heart.  But  time  presses.  Come,  my 
sister,  my  beloved  Eva!  In  a  few  hours  it  may  not 
be  in  my  power  to  effect  all  this.  Come,  think  of 
your   father,  of  his   anxiety,  his   grief.      One   glimpse 


TANCRED  373 

of  you  will  do  him  more  service  than  the  most 
cunning  leech.' 

Eva  burst  into  passionate  tears.  '  He  w^iil  never 
see  us  again.  1  saw  him  fall;  never  shall  1  forget 
that  moment!'  and  she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

'But  he  lives,'  said  Fakredeen.  'I  have  been 
speaking  to  some  of  the  Turkish  prisoners.  They 
also  saw  him  fall;  but  he  was  borne  off  the  field, 
and,  though  insensible,  it  was  believed  that  the 
wound  was  not  fatal.     Trust  me,  he  is  at  Aleppo.' 

'They  saw  him  borne  off  the  field.?' 

'Safe,  and,  if  not  well,  far  from  desperate.' 

'O  God  of  my  fathers!'  said  Eva,  falling  on  her 
knees;  'thine  is  indeed  a  mercy-seat!' 

'Yes,  yes;  there  is  nothing  hke  the  God  of  your 
fathers,  Eva.  If  you  knew  the  things  that  are  going 
on  in  this  place,  even  in  these  vaults  and  caverns, 
you  would  not  tarry  here  an  instant.  They  worship 
nothing  but  graven  images,  and  the  Queen  has  fallen 
in  love  with  Tancred,  because  he  resembles  a  marble 
statue  older  than  the  times  of  the  pre-Adamite  Sul- 
tans.    Come,  come! ' 

'But  how  could  they  know  that  he  was  far  from 
desperate  ? ' 

'1  will  show  you  the  man  who  spoke  to  him,' 
said  Fahredeen;  'he  is  only  with  our  horses.  You 
can  ask  him  any  questions  you  like.  Come,  put  on 
your  Mamlouk  dress,  every  minute  is  golden.' 

'There  seems  to  me  something  base  in  leaving 
him  here  alone,'  said  Eva.  'He  has  eaten  our  salt, 
he  is  the  child  of  our  tents,  his  blood  will  be  upon 
our  heads.' 

'Well,  then,  fly  for  his  sake,'  said  Fakredeen; 
'here  you  cannot  aid  him;  but  when  you  are  once  in 


374 


BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 


safety,  a  thousand  things  may  be  done  for  his  assist- 
ance.    I  could  return,  for  example.' 

'Now,  Fakredeen,'  said  Eva,  stopping  him,  and 
speaking  in  a  solemn  tone,  'if  I  accompany  you,  as 
you  now  require,  will  you  pledge  me  your  word, 
that  the  moment  we  pass  the  frontier  you  will  return 
to  him.' 

'  I  swear  it,  by  our  true  religion,  and  by  my  hopes 
of  an  earthly  crown.' 


CHAPTER   LVII 


Message  of  the  Pasha. 

*  HE  sudden  apparition  of  Eva  at  Gin- 
darics,  and  the  scene  of  painful  mys- 


tery by  which  it  was  followed,  had 
plunged  Tancred  into  the  great- 
est anxiety  and  affliction.     It   was 

in  vain  that,  the  moment  they  had 
quitted  the  presence  of  Astarte,  he  appealed  to  Fak- 
redeen  for  some  explanation  of  what  had  occurred,  and 
for  some  counsel  as  to  the  course  they  should  imme- 
diately pursue  to  assist  one  in  whose  fate  they  were 
both  so  deeply  interested.  The  Emir,  for  the  first 
time  since  their  acquaintance,  seemed  entirely  to  have 
lost  himself.  He  looked  perplexed,  almost  stunned; 
his  language  was  incoherent,  his  gestures  those  of 
despair.  Tancred,  while  he  at  once  ascribed  all  this 
confused  demeanour  to  the  shock  which  he  had  him- 
self shared  at  finding  the  daughter  of  Besso  a  captive, 
and  a  captive  under  circumstances  of  doubt  and  diffi- 
culty, could  not  reconcile  such  distraction,  such  an 
absence  of  all  resources  and  presence  of  mind,  with 
the  exuberant  means  and  the  prompt  expedients  which 
in  general  were  the  characteristics  of  his  companion, 
under  circumstances  the  most  difficult  and  unforeseen. 

(37S) 


376  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

When  they  had  reached  their  apartments,  Fakre- 
deen  threw  hunself  upon  the  divan  and  moaned,  and, 
suddenly  starting  from  the  couch,  paced  the  chamber 
with  agitated  step,  wringing  his  hands.  All  that  Tan- 
cred  could  extract  from  him  was  an  exclamation  of 
despair,  an  imprecation  on  his  own  head,  and  an  ex- 
pression of  fear  and  horror  at  Eva  having  fallen  into 
the  hands  of  pagans  and  idolaters. 

It  was  in  vain  also  that  Tancred  endeavoured  to 
communicate  with  Keferinis.  The  minister  was  in- 
visible, not  to  be  found,  and  the  night  closed  in, 
when  Tancred,  after  fruitless  counsels  with  Baroni, 
and  many  united  but  vain  efforts  to  open  some  com- 
munication with  Eva,  delivered  himself  not  to  repose, 
but  to  a  distracted  reverie  over  the  present  harassing 
and  critical  affairs. 

When  the  dawn  broke,  he  rose  and  sought  Fakre- 
deen,  but,  to  his  surprise,  he  found  that  his  com- 
panion had  already  quitted  his  apartment.  An  unusual 
stillness  seemed  to  pervade  Gindarics  this  day;  not  a 
person  was  visible.  Usually  at  sunrise  all  were  astir, 
and  shortly  afterwards  Keferinis  generally  paid  a  visit 
to  the  guests  of  his  sovereign;  but  this  day  Keferinis 
omitted  the  ceremony,  and  Tancred,  never  more  anx- 
ious for  companions  and  counsellors,  found  himself 
entirely  alone;  for  Baroni  was  about  making  observa- 
tions, and  endeavouring  to  find  some  clue  to  the  po- 
sition of  Eva. 

Tancred  had  resolved,  the  moment  that  it  was 
practicable,  to  solicit  an  audience  of  Astarte  on  the 
subject  of  Eva,  and  to  enter  into  all  the  representa- 
tions respecting  her  which,  in  his  opinion,  were  alone 
necessary  to  secure  for  her  immediately  the  most  con- 
siderate treatment,  and  ultimately  a  courteous  release. 


TANCRED  377 

The  very  circumstance  that  she  was  united  to  the 
Emir  of  Canobia  by  ties  so  dear  and  intimate,  and 
was  also  an  individual  to  whom  he  himself  was  in- 
debted for  such  generous  aid  and  such  invaluable 
services,  would,  he  of  course  assumed,  independently 
of  her  own  interesting  personal  qualities,  enlist  the 
kind  feelings  of  Astarte  in  her  favour.  The  difficulty 
was  to  obtain  this  audience  of  Astarte,  for  neither 
Fakredeen  nor  Keferinis  was  to  be  found,  and  no 
other  means  of  achieving  the  result  were  obvious. 

About  two  hours  before  noon,  Baroni  brought 
word  that  he  had  contrived  to  see  Cypros,  from  whom 
he  gathered  that  Astarte  had  repaired  to  the  great 
temple  of  the  gods.  Instantly,  Tancred  resolved  to 
enter  the  palace,  and  if  possible  to  find  his  way  to 
the  mysterious  sanctuary.  That  was  a  course  by  no 
means  easy;  but  the  enterprising  are  often  fortunate, 
and  his  project  proved  not  to  be  impossible.  He 
passed  through  the  chambers  of  the  palace,  which 
were  entirely  deserted,  and  with  which  he  was  fa- 
miliar, and  he  reached  without  difficulty  the  portal  of 
bronze,  which  led  to  the  covered  way  that  conducted 
to  the  temple,  but  it  was  closed.  Baffled  and  almost 
in  despair,  a  distant  chorus  reached  his  ear,  then  the 
tramp  of  feet,  and  then  slowly  the  portal  opened.  He 
imagined  that  the  Queen  was  returning;  but,  on  the 
contrary,  pages  and  women  and  priests  swept  by 
without  observing  him,  for  he  was  hidden  by  one  of 
the  opened  valves,  but  Astarte  was  not  there;  and, 
though  the  venture  was  rash,  Tancred  did  not  hesi- 
tate, as  the  last  individual  in  the  procession  moved 
on,  to  pass  the  gate.  The  portal  shut  instantly  with 
a  clang,  and  Tancred  found  himself  alone  and  in  com- 
parative darkness.     His  previous  experience,  however, 


378  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

sustained  him.  His  eye,  fresh  from  the  sunlight,  at 
first  wandered  in  obscurity,  but  by  degrees,  habituated 
to  the  atmosphere,  though  dim,  the  way  was  suf- 
ficiently indicated,  and  he  advanced,  till,  the  light  be- 
came each  step  more  powerful,  and  soon  he  emerged 
upon  the  platform,  which  faced  the  mountain  temple 
at  the  end  of  the  ravine:  a  still  and  wondrous  scene, 
more  striking  now,  if  possible,  when  viewed  alone, 
with  his  heart  the  prey  of  many  emotions.  How  full 
of  adventure  is  life!  It  is  monotonous  only  to  the 
monotonous.  There  may  be  no  longer  fiery  dragons, 
magic  rings,  or  fairy  wands,  to  interfere  in  its  course 
and  to  influence  our  career;  but  the  relations  of  men 
are  far  more  complicated  and  numerous  than  of  yore; 
and  in  the  play  of  the  passions,  and  in  the  devices  of 
creative  spirits,  that  have  thus  a  proportionately  greater 
sphere  for  their  action,  there  are  spells  of  social  sorcery 
more  potent  than  all  the  necromancy  of  Merlin  or 
Friar  Bacon. 

Tancred  entered  the  temple,  the  last  refuge  of  the 
Olympian  mind.  It  was  race  that  produced  these  in- 
imitable forms,  the  idealised  reflex  of  their  own  pe- 
culiar organisation.  Their  principles  of  art,  practised 
by  a  different  race,  do  not  produce  the  same  results. 
Yet  we  shut  our  eyes  to  the  great  truth  into  which 
all  truths  merge,  and  we  call  upon  the  Pict,  or  the 
Sarmatian,  to  produce  the  forms  of  Phidias  and  Prax- 
iteles. 

Not  devoid  of  that  awe  which  is  caused  by  the 
presence  of  the  solenm  and  the  beautiful,  Tancred 
slowly  traced  his  steps  through  the  cavern  sanctuary. 
No  human  being  was  visible.  Upon  his  right  was 
the  fane  to  which  Astarte  led  him  on  his  visit  of  ini- 
tiation.      He   was    about    to    enter   it,   when,   kneeling 


TANCRED  379 

before  the  form  of  the  Apollo  of  Antioch,  he  beheld 
the  fair  Queen  of  the  Ansarey,  motionless  and  speech- 
less, her  arms  crossed  upon  her  breast,  and  her  eyes 
fixed  upon  her  divinity,  in  a  dream  of  ecstatic  devo- 
tion. 

The  splendour  of  the  ascending  sun  fell  full  upon  the 
statue,  suffusing  the  ethereal  form  with  radiancy,  and 
spreading  around  it  for  some  space  a  broad  and  golden 
halo.  As  Tancred,  recognising  the  Queen,  with- 
drew a  few  paces,  his  shadow,  clearly  defined,  rested 
on  the  glowing  wall  of  the  rock  temple.  Astarte 
uttered  an  exclamation,  rose  quickly  from  her  kneel- 
ing position,  and,  looking  round,  her  eyes  met  those 
of  Lord  Montacute.  Instantly  she  withdrew  her  gaze, 
blushing  deeply. 

'  I  was  about  to  retire,'  murmured  Tancred. 

'And  why  should  you  retire.?'  said  Astarte,  in  a 
soft  voice,  looking  up. 

'There  are  moments  when  solitude  is  sacred.' 

'I  am  too  much  alone:  often,  and  of  late  especially, 
I  feel  a  painful  isolation.' 

She  moved  forward,  and  they  re-entered  together 
the  chief  temple,  and  then  emerged  into  the  sunlight. 
They  stood  beneath  the  broad  Ionic  portico,  behold- 
ing the  strange  scene  around.  Then  it  was  that  Tan- 
cred, observing  that  Astarte  cared  not  to  advance,  and 
deeming  the  occasion  very  favourable  to  his  wishes, 
proceeded  to  explain  to  her  the  cause  of  his  ventur- 
ing to  intrude  on  her  this  morning.  He  spoke  with 
that  earnestness,  and,  if  the  phrase  may  be  used,  that 
passionate  repose,  which  distinguished  him.  He  en- 
larged on  the  character  of  Besso,  his  great  virtues,  his 
amiable  qualities,  his  benevolence  and  unbounded 
generosity;   he    sought   in   every    way  to   engage  the 


38o  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

kind  feelings  of  Astarte  in  favour  of  his  family,  and 
to  interest  her  in  the  character  of  Eva,  on  which  he 
dilated  with  all  the  eloquence  of  his  heart.  Truly,  he 
almost  did  justice  to  her  admirable  qualities,  her  vivid 
mind,  and  lofty  spirit,  and  heroic  courage;  the  occa- 
sion was  too  delicate  to  treat  of  the  personal  charms 
of  another  woman,  but  he  did  not  conceal  his  own 
deep  sense  of  obligation  to  Eva  for  her  romantic  ex- 
pedition to  the  desert  in  his  behalf. 

'You  can  understand  then,'  concluded  Tancred, 
'  what  must  have  been  my  astonishment  and  grief 
when  I  found  her  yesterday  a  captive.  It  was  some 
consolation  to  me  to  remember  in  whose  power  she 
had  fallen,  and  I  hasten  to  throw  myself  at  your  feet 
to  supplicate  for  her  safety  and  her  freedom.' 

'Yes,  I  can  understand  all  this,'  said  Astarte,  in  a 
low  tone. 

Tancred  looked  at  her.  Her  voice  had  struck  him 
with  pain;  her  countenance  still  more  distressed  him. 
Nothing  could  afford  a  more  complete  contrast  to  the 
soft  and  glowing  visage  that  a  few  moments  before 
he  had  beheld  in  the  fane  of  Apollo.  She  was  quite 
pale,  almost  livid;  her  features,  of  exquisite  shape, 
had  become  hard  and  even  distorted;  all  the  bad  pas- 
sions of  our  nature  seemed  suddenly  to  have  con- 
centred in  that  face  which  usually  combined  perfect 
beauty  of  form  with  an  expression  the  most  gentle, 
and  in  truth  most  lovely. 

'Yes,  I  can  understand  all  this,'  said  Astarte,  'but 
1  shall  not  exercise  any  power  which  I  may  possess 
to  assist  you  in  violating  the  laws  of  your  country, 
and  outraging  the  wishes  of  your  sovereign.' 

'Violating  the  laws  of  my  country!'  exclaimed 
Tancred,  with  a  perplexed  look. 


TANCRED  381 

'  Yes,  I  know  all.  Your  schemes  truly  are  very 
heroic  and  very  flattering  to  our  self-love.  We  are  to 
lend  our  lances  to  place  on  the  throne  of  Syria  one 
who  would  not  be  permitted  to  reside  in  your  own 
country,  much  less  to  rule  in  \t?' 

'  Of  whom,  of  what,  do  you  speak  ? ' 

'I  speak  of  the  Jewess  whom  you  would  marry,' 
said  Astarte,  in  a  hushed  yet  distinct  voice,  and  with 
a  fell  glance,   'against  all  laws,  divine  and  human.' 

'Of  your  prisoner.^' 

'Well  you  may  call  her  my  prisoner;  she  is 
secure.' 

'  Is  it  possible  you  can  believe  that  I  even  am  a 
suitor  of  the  daughter  of  Besso  ? '  said  Tancred, 
earnestly.  '  I  wear  the  Cross,  which  is  graven  on  my 
heart,  and  have  a  heavenly  mission  to  fulfil,  from 
which  no  earthly  thought  shall  ever  distract  me.  But 
even  were  I  more  than  sensible  to  her  charms  and 
virtues,  she  is  affianced,  or  the  same  as  affianced;  nor 
have  1  the  least  reason  to  suppose  that  he  who  will 
possess  her  hand  does  not  command  her  heart.' 

'  Affianced  ? ' 

'Not  only  affianced,  but,  until  this  sad  adventure, 
on  the  very  point  of  being  wedded.  She  was  on  her 
way  from  Damascus  to  Aleppo,  to  be  united  to  her 
cousin,  when  she  was  brought  hither,  where  she  will, 
I  trust,  not  long  remain  your  prisoner.' 

The  countenance  of  Astarte  changed;  but,  though 
it  lost  its  painful  and  vindictive  expression,  it  did  not 
assume  one  of  less  distress.  After  a  moment's  pause, 
she  murmured,   'Can  this  be  true.?' 

'Who  could  have  told  you  otherwise.?' 

'An  enemy  of  hers,  of  her  family,'  continued  As- 
tarte, in  a  low  voice,  and    speaking  as  if  absorbed  in 


382  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

thought;  'one  who  admitted  to  me  his  long-hoarded 
vengeance  against  her  house.' 

Then  turning  abruptly,  she  looked  Tancred  full  in 
the  face,  with  a  glance  of  almost  fierce  scrutiny.  His 
clear  brow  and  unfaltering  eye,  with  an  expression  of 
sympathy  and  even  kindness  on  his  countenance,  met 
her  searching  look. 

'No,'  she  said;  'it  is  impossible  that  you  can  be 
false.' 

'Why  should  I  be  false?  or  what  is  it  that  mixes 
up  my  name  and  life  with  these  thoughts  and  cir- 
cumstances ?' 

'Why  should  you  be  false?  Ah!  there  it  is,'  said 
Astarte,  in  a  sweet  and  mournful  voice.  'What  are 
any  of  us  to  you!'     And  she  wept. 

'It  grieves  me  to  see  you  in  sorrow,'  said  Tan- 
cred, approaching  her,  and  speaking  in  a  tone  of 
kindness. 

'I    am    more    than    sorrowful:    this    unhappy    lady 

'  and  the  voice  of  Astarte   was   overpowered   by 

her  emotion. 

'  You  will  send  her  back  in  safety  and  with  honour 
to  her  family,'  said  Tancred,  soothingly.  'I  would 
fain  believe  her  father  has  not  fallen.  My  intend- 
ant  assures  me  that  there  are  Turkish  soldiers  here 
who  saw  him  borne  from  the  field.  A  little  time, 
and  their  griefs  will  vanish.  You  will  have  the  sat- 
isfaction of  having  acted  with  generosity,  with  that 
good  heart  which  characterises  you;  and  as  for  the 
daughter  of  Besso,  all  will  be  forgotten  as  she  gives 
one  hand  to  her  father  and  the  other  to  her  hus- 
band.' 

'It  is  too  late,'  said  Astarte  in  an  almost  sepulchral 
voice. 


TANCRED  383 

'What  is  that?' 

'It  is  too  late!  The  daughter  of  Besso  is  no 
more.' 

'Jesu  preserve  us!'  exclaimed  Tancred,  starting, 
'Speak  it  again:  what  is  it  that  you  say?' 

Astarte  shook  her  head. 

'Woman!'  said  Tancred,  and  he  seized  her  hand, 
but  his  thoughts  were  too  wild  for  utterance,  and  he 
remained  pallid  and  panting. 

'The  daughter  of  Besso  is  no  more;  and  I  do  not 
lament  it,  for  you  loved  her.' 

'Oh,  grief  ineffable!'  said  Tancred,  with  a  groan, 
looking  up  to  heaven,  and  covering  his  face  with  his 
hands:  *I  loved  her,  as  1  loved  the  stars  and  sun- 
shine.' Then,  after  a  pause,  he  turned  to  Astarte, 
and  said,  in  a  rapid  voice,  'This  dreadful  deed;  when, 
how,  did  it  happen?' 

'  Is  it  so  dreadful  ? ' 

'Almost  as  dreadful  as  such  words  from  woman's 
lips.  A  curse  be  on  the  hour  that  I  entered  these 
walls ! ' 

'No,  no,  no!'  said  Astarte,  and  she  seized  his 
arm  distractedly.     'No,  no!    No  curse!' 

'It  is  not  true!'  said  Tancred.  'It  cannot  be  true! 
She  is  not  dead.' 

'  Would  she  were  not,  if  her  death  is  to  bring  me 
curses.' 

'  Tell  me  when  was  this  ? ' 

'An  hour  ago,  at  least.' 

'I  do  not  believe  it.  There  is  not  an  arm  that 
would  have  dared  to  touch  her.  Let  us  hasten  to 
her.     It  is  not  too  late.' 

'Alas!  it  is  too  late,'  said  Astarte.  'It  was  an 
enemy's  arm  that  undertook  the  deed.' 


384  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'An  enemy!  What  enemy  among  your  people 
could  the  daughter  of  Besso  have  found?' 

'A  deadly  one,  who  seized  the  occasion  offered  to 
a  long  cherished  vengeance;  one  who  for  years  has 
been  alike  the  foe  and  the  victim  of  her  race  and 
house.     There  is  no  hope!' 

'I  am  indeed  amazed.     Who  could  this  be?' 

'Your  friend;  at  least,  your  supposed  friend,  the 
Emir  of  the  Lebanon.' 

'  Fakredeen  ?' 

'You  have  said  it.' 

'The  assassin  and  the  foe  of  Eva!'  exclaimed  Tan- 
cred,  with  a  countenance  relieved  yet  infinitely  per- 
plexed. 'There  must  be  some  great  misconception  in 
all  this.     Let  us  hasten  to  the  castle.' 

'He  solicited  the  office,' said  Astarte;  'he  wreaked 
his  vengeance,  while  he  vindicated  my  outraged  feel- 
ings.' 

'  By  murdering  his  dearest  friend,  the  only  being 
to  whom  he  is  really  devoted,  his  more  than  friend, 
his  foster-sister,  nursed  by  the  same  heart;  the  ally 
and  inspiration  of  his  life,  to  whom  he  himself  was  a 
suitor,  and  might  have  been  a  successful  one,  had  it 
not  been  for  the  custom  of  her  religion  and  her  race, 
which  shrink  from  any  connection  with  strangers  and 
with  Nazarenes.' 

'His  foster-sister!'  exclaimed  Astarte. 

At  this  moment  Cypros  appeared  in  the  distance, 
hastening  to  Astarte  with  an  agitated  air.  Her  looks 
were  disturbed;  she  was  almost  breathless  when  she 
reached  them;  she  wrung  her  hands  before  she  spoke. 

'Royal  lady!'  at  length  she  said,  'I  hastened,  as 
you  instructed  me,  at  the  appointed  hour,  to  the  Emir 
Fakredeen,  but  1  learnt  that  he  had  quitted  the  castle. 


TANCRED  385 

Then  I  repaired  to  the  prisoner;  but,  woe  is  me!  she 
is  not  to  be  found.' 

'Not  to  be  found!' 

'The  raiment  that  she  wore  is  lying  on  the  floor 
of  her  prison.     Methinics  she  has  fled.' 

'She  has  fled  with  him  who  was  false  to  us  all,' 
said  Astarte,  'for  it  was  the  Emir  of  the  Lebanon 
who  long  ago  told  me  that  you  were  affianced  to  the 
daughter  of  Besso,  and  who  warned  me  against  join- 
ing in  any  enterprise  which  was  only  to  place  upon 
the  throne  of  Syria  one  whom  the  laws  of  your  own 
country  would  never  recognise  as  your  wife.' 

'Intriguer!'  said  Tancred.  'Vile  and  inveterate  in- 
triguer!' 

'It  is  well,'  said  Astarte.  'My  spirit  is  more 
serene.' 

'Would  that  Eva  were  with  any  one  else!'  said 
Tancred,  thoughtfully,  and  speaking,  as  it  were,  to 
himself. 

'Your  thoughts  are  with  the  daughter  of  Besso,' 
said  Astarte.  '  You  wish  to  follow  her,  to  guard  her, 
to  restore  her  to  her  family.' 

Tancred  looked  round  and  caught  the  glance  of 
the  Queen  of  the  Ansarey,  mortified,  yet  full  of  affec- 
tion. 

'It  seems  to  me,'  he  said,  'that  it  is  time  for  me 
to  terminate  a  visit  that  has  already  occasioned  you, 
royal  lady,  too  much  vexation.' 

Astarte  burst  into  tears. 

'Let  me  go,'  she  said,  'you  want  a  throne;  this 
is  a  rude  one,  yet  accept  it.  You  require  warriors, 
the  Ansarey  are  invincible.  My  castle  is  not  like 
those  palaces  of  Antioch  of  which  we  have  often 
talked,  and  which  were  worthy  of  you,  but  Gindarics 

16    B.  D.— 25 


386  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

is  impregnable,  and  will  serve  you  for  your  head- 
quarters until  you  conquer  that  world  which  you  are 
born  to  command.' 

'  1  have  been  the  unconscious  agent  in  petty  mach- 
inations,' said  Tancred.  'I  must  return  to  the  des- 
ert to  recover  the  purity  of  my  mind.  It  is  Arabia 
alone  that  can  regenerate  the  world.' 

At  this  moment  Cypros,  who  was  standing  apart, 
waved  her  scarf,  and  exclaimed,  '  Royal  lady,  I  per- 
ceive in  the  distance  the  ever-faithful  messenger;' 
whereupon  Astarte  looked  up,  and,  as  yet  invisible  to 
the  inexperienced  glance  of  Tancred,  recognised  what 
was  an  infinitely  small  dusky  speck,  each  moment 
becoming  more  apparent,  until  at  length  a  bird  was 
observed  by  all  of  them  winging  its  way  towards  the 
Queen. 

Ms  it  the  ever-faithful  Karaguus,'  said  Astarte;  'or 
is  it  Ruby-lips  that  ever  brings  good  news?' 

'It  is  Karaguus,'  said  Cypros,  as  the  bird  drew 
nearer  and  nearer;  'but  it  is  not  Karaguus  of  Damas- 
cus. By  the  ring  on  its  neck,  it  is  Karaguus  of 
Aleppo.' 

The  pigeon  now  was  only  a  few  yards  above  the 
head  of  the  Queen.  Fatigued,  but  with  an  eye  full 
of  resolution,  it  fluttered  for  a  moment,  and  then  fell 
upon  her  bosom.  Cypros  advanced  and  lifted  its 
weary  wing,  and  untied  the  cartel  which  it  bore, 
brief  words,  but  full  of  meaning,  and  a  terrible  in- 
terest. 

'  The  Pasha,  at  the  head  of  Jive  thousand  regular 
troops,  leaves  Haleb  to-morrow  to  invade  our  land. ' 

'Go,'  said  Astarte  to  Tancred;  'to  remain  here  is 
now  dangerous.      Thanks    to   the   faithful    messenger, 


TANCRED 


387 


you  have  time  to  escape  with  ease  from  that  land 
which  you  scorned  to  rule,  and  which  loved  you  too 
well.' 

'I  cannot  leave  it  in  the  hour  of  peril,'  said  Tan- 
cred.  '  This  invasion  of  the  Ottomans  may  lead  to 
results  of  which  none  dream.  I  will  meet  them  at 
the  head  of  your  warriors!' 


CHAPTER    LVIII. 
Three  Letters  of  Cabala. 

THERE  any  news?'  asked  Adam 

Besso  of  Issachar,  the  son  of  Selim, 

the  most  cunning  leech  at  Aleppo, 

and  who   by  day  and   by    night 

watched    the   couch   which    bore 

the  suffering  form  of  the  pride  and 

mainstay  of  the  Syrian  Hebrews. 

'There  is  news,  but  it  has  not  yet  arrived,'  re- 
plied Issachar,  the  son  of  Selim,  a  man  advanced  in 
life,  but  hale,  with  a  white  beard,  a  bright  eye,  and 
a  benignant  visage. 

*  There  are  pearls  in  the  sea,  but  what  are  they 
worth?'  murmured  Besso. 

'  I  have  taken  a  Cabala,'  said  Issachar,  the  son  of 
Selim,  'and  three  times  that  I  opened  the  sacred 
book,  there  were  three  words,  and  the  initial  letter  of 
each  word  is  the  name  of  a  person  who  will  enter 
this  room  this  day,  and  every  person  will  bring 
news.' 

'But  what  news?'  sighed  Besso.  'The  news  of 
Tophet  and  of  ten  thousand  demons?' 

'I  have  taken  a  Cabala,'    said    Issachar,  the   son  of 
Selim,   'and  the  news  will  be  good.' 
(388) 


TANCRED  389 

'To  whom  and  from  whom?  Good  to  the  Pasha, 
but  not  to  me!  good  to  the  people  of  Haleb,  but  not, 
perhaps,  to  the  family  of  Besso.' 

'God  will  guard  over  his  own.  In  the  meanwhile, 
I  must  replace  this  bandage,  noble  Besso.  Let  me 
rest  your  arm  upon  this  cushion  and  you  will  endure 
less  pain.' 

'Alas!  worthy  Issachar,  I  have  wounds  deeper  than 
any  you  can  probe.' 

The  resignation  peculiar  to  the  Orientals  had  sus- 
tained Besso  under  his  overwhelming  calamity.  He 
neither  wailed  nor  moaned.  Absorbed  in  a  brooding 
silence,  he  awaited  the  result  of  the  measures  which 
had  been  taken  for  the  release  of  Eva,  sustained  by 
the  chance  of  success,  and  caring  not  to  survive  if 
encountering  failure.  The  Pasha  of  Aleppo,  long  irri- 
tated by  the  Ansarey,  and  meditating  for  some  time 
an  invasion  of  their  country,  had  been  fired  by  the 
all-influential  representations  of  the  family  of  Besso 
instantly  to  undertake  a  step  which,  although  it  had 
been  for  some  time  contemplated,  might  yet,  accord- 
ing to  Turkish  custom,  have  been  indefinitely  post- 
poned. Three  regiments  of  the  line,  disciplined  in  the 
manner  of  Europe,  some  artillery,  and  a  strong  de- 
tachment of  cavalry,  had  been  ordered  at  once  to  in- 
vade the  contiguous  territory  of  the  Ansarey.  Hillel 
Besso  had  accompanied  the  troops,  leaving  his  uncle 
under  his  paternal  roof,  disabled  by  his  late  conflict, 
but  suffering  from  wounds  which  in  themselves  were 
serious  rather  than  perilous. 

Four  days  had  elapsed  since  the  troops  had  quitted 
Aleppo.  It  was  the  part  of  Hillel,  before  they  had 
recourse  to  hostile  movements,  to  obtain,  if  possible, 
the    restoration    of  the    prisoners   by   fair   means;    nor 


390  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

were  any  resources  wanting  to  effect  this  purpose.  A 
courier  had  arrived  at  Aleppo  from  Hillel,  apprising 
Adam  Besso  that  the  Queen  of  the  Ansarey  had  not 
only  refused  to  give  up  the  prisoners,  but  even  de- 
clared that  Eva  had  been  already  released;  but  Hillel 
concluded  that  this  was  merely  trifling.  This  parleying 
had  taken  place  on  the  border;  the  troops  were  about 
to  force  the  passes  on  the  following  day. 

About  an  hour  before  sunset,  on  the  very  same 
day  that  Issachar,  the  son  of  Selim,  had  taken  more 
than  one  Cabala,  some  horsemen,  in  disorder,  were 
observed  from  the  walls  by  the  inhabitants  of  Aleppo, 
galloping  over  the  plain.  They  were  soon  recognised 
as  the  cavalry  of  the  Pasha,  the  irregular  heralds,  it 
was  presumed,  of  a  triumph  achieved.  Hillel  Besso, 
covered  with  sweat  and  dust,  was  among  those  who 
thus  early  arrived.  He  hastened  at  a  rapid  pace 
through  the  suburb  of  the  city,  scattering  random 
phrases  to  those  who  inquired  after  intelligence  as 
he  passed,  until  he  reached  the  courtyard  of  his  own 
house. 

"Tis  well,'  he  observed,  as  he  closed  the  gate. 
'A  battle  is  a  fine  thing,  but,  for  my  part,  I  am  not 
sorry  to  find  myself  at  home.' 

'What  is  that?'  inquired  Adam  Besso,  as  a  noise 
reached  his  ear. 

"Tis  the  letter  of  the  first  Cabala,'  replied  Issachar, 
the  son  of  Selim. 

'Uncle,  it  is  I,'  said  Hillel,  advancing. 

'Speak,'  said  Adam  Besso,  in  an  agitated  voice; 
'my  sight  is  dark.' 

'Alas,  I  am  alone!'  said  Hillel. 

'Bury  me  in  Jehoshaphat,'  murmured  Besso,  as  he 
sank  back. 


TANCRED  391 

'But,  my  uncle,  there  is  hope.' 

'Speak,  then,  of  hope,'  replied  Besso,  with  sudden 
vehemence,  and  starting  from  his  pillow. 

'Truly  I  have  seen  a  child  of  the  mountains,  who 
persists  in  the  tale  that  our  Eva  has  escaped.' 

'An  enemy's  device!  Are  the  mountains  ours? 
Where  are  the  troops?' 

'Were  the  mountains  ours,  I  should  not  be  here, 
my  uncle.  Look  from  the  ramparts,  and  you  will 
soon  see  the  plain  covered  with  the  troops,  at  least 
with  all  of  them  who  have  escaped  the  matchlocks 
and  the  lances  of  the  Ansarey.' 

'Are  they  such  sons  of  fire?' 

'When  the  Queen  of  the  Ansarey  refused  to  de- 
liver up  the  prisoners,  and  declared  that  Eva  was  not 
in  her  power,  the  Pasha  resolved  to  penetrate  the 
passes,  in  two  detachments,  on  the  following  morn- 
ing. The  enemy  was  drawn  up  in  array  to  meet  us, 
but  fled  after  a  feeble  struggle.  Our  artillery  seemed 
to  carry  all  before  it.  But,'  continued  Hillel,  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders,  'war  is  not  by  any  means  a  com- 
mercial transaction.  It  seemed  that,  when  we  were 
on  the  point  of  victory,  we  were  in  fact  entirely  de- 
feated. The  enemy  had  truly  made  a  feigned  defence, 
and  had  only  allured  us  into  the  passes,  where  they 
fired  on  us  from  the  heights,  and  rolled  down  upon 
our  confused  masses  huge  fragments  of  rock.  Our 
strength,  our  numbers,  and  our  cannon,  only  embar- 
rassed us;  there  arose  a  confusion;  the  troops  turned 
and  retreated.  And,  when  everything  was  in  the 
greatest  perplexity,  and  we  were  regaining  the  plain, 
our  rear  was  pursued  by  crowds  of  cavalry,  Kurds, 
and  other  Giaours,  who  destroyed  our  men  with 
their  long   lances,  uttering    horrible   shouts.      For  my 


392  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

own  part,  I  thought  all  was  over,  but  a  good  horse 
is  not  a  bad  thing,  and  I  am  here,  my  uncle,  having 
ridden  for  twenty  hours,  nearly,  without  a  pause.' 

'And  when  did  you  see  this  child  of  the  moun- 
tains who  spoke  of  the  lost  one?'  asked  Besso,  in  a 
low  and  broken  voice. 

'On  the  eve  of  the  engagement,'  said  Hillel.  'He 
had  been  sent  to  me  with  a  letter,  but,  alas!  had  been 
plundered  on  his  way  by  our  troops,  and  the  letter 
had  been  destroyed  or  lost.  Nevertheless,  he  induced 
them  to  permit  him  to  reach  my  tent,  and  brought 
these  words,  that  the  ever  adorable  had  truly  quitted 
the  mountains,  and  that  the  lost  letter  had  been  writ- 
ten to  that  effect  by  the  chieftain  of  the  Ansarey.' 

'Is  there  yet  hope!     What  sound  is  that?' 

"Tis  the  letter  of  the  second  Cabala,'  said  Issachar, 
the  son  of  Selim. 

And  at  this  moment  entered  the  chamber  a  faithful 
slave,  who  made  signs  to  the  physician,  upon  which 
Issachar  rose,  and  was  soon  engaged  in  earnest  con- 
versation with  him  who  had  entered,  Hillel  tending 
the  side  of  Besso.  After  a  few  minutes,  Issachar  ap- 
proached the  couch  of  his  patient,  and  said,  '  Here  is 
one,  my  lord  and  friend,  who  brings  good  tidings  of 
your  daughter.' 

'God  of  my  fathers!'  exclaimed  Besso,  passion- 
ately, and  springing  up. 

'Still,  we  must  be  calm,'  said  Issachar;  'still,  we 
must  be  calm.' 

'  Let  me  see  him,'  said  Besso. 

'It  is  one  you  know,  and  know  well,'  said  Issa- 
char.    'It  is  the  Emir  Fakredeen.' 

'The  son  of  my  heart,'  said  Besso,  'who  brings 
me  news  that  is  honey  in  my  mouth/ 


TANCRED  393 

'I  am  here,  my  father  of  fathers,'  said  Fakredeen, 
gliding  to  the  side  of  the  couch. 

Besso  grasped  his  hand,  and  looked  at  him 
earnestly  in  the  face.  '  Speak  of  Eva,'  he  at  length 
said,  in  a  voice  of  choking  agitation. 

'She  is  well,  she  is  safe.  Yes,  I  have  saved  her,' 
said  Fakredeen,  burying  his  face  in  the  pillow,  ex- 
hausted by  emotion.     'Yes,  I  have  not  lived  in  vain.' 

'Your  flag  shall  wave  on  a  thousand  castles,'  said 
Besso.  '  My  child  is  saved,  and  she  is  saved  by  the 
brother  of  her  heart.  Entirely  has  the  God  of  our 
fathers  guarded  over  us.  Henceforth,  my  Fakredeen, 
you  have  only  to  wish:  we  are  the  same.'  And 
Besso  sank  down  almost  insensible;  then  he  made  a 
vain  effort  to  rise  again,  murmuring  'Eva!' 

'She  will  soon  be  here,'  said  Fakredeen;  'she 
only  rests  awhile  after  many  hardships.' 

'  Will  the  noble  Emir  refresh  himself  after  his  long 
journey?'  said  Hillel. 

'My  heart  is  too  elate  for  the  body  to  need  relief,' 
said  the  Emir. 

'That  may  be  very  true,'  said  Hillel.  'At  the 
same  time,  for  my  part,  I  have  always  thought  that 
the  body  should  be   maintained  as  well  as  the  spirit.' 

'Withdraw  from  the  side  of  the  couch,'  said  Issa- 
char,  the  son  of  Selim,  to  his  companions.  '  My  lord 
and  friend  has  swooned.' 

Gradually  the  tide  of  life  returned  to  Besso,  grad- 
ually the  heart  beat,  the  hand  grew  warm.  At  length 
he  slowly  opened  his  eyes,  and  said,  '  I  have  been 
dreaming  of  my  child,  even  now  I  see  her.' 

Yes,  so  vivid  had  been  the  vision  that  even  now, 
restored  entirely  to  himself,  perfectly  conscious  of  the 
locality  and   the    circumstances   that   surrounded    him, 


394  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

knowing  full  well  that  he  was  in  his  brother's  house 
at  Aleppo,  suffering  and  disabled,  keenly  recalling  his 
recent  interview  with  Fakredeen,  notwithstanding  all 
these  tests  of  inward  and  outward  perception,  still  before 
his  entranced  and  agitated  vision  hovered  the  lovely 
visage  of  his  daughter,  a  little  paler  than  usual,  and  an 
uncommon  anxiety  blended  with  its  soft  expression,  but 
the  same  rich  eyes  and  fme  contour  of  countenance 
that  her  father  had  so  often  gazed  on  with  pride,  and 
recalled  in  her  absence  with  brooding  fondness. 
'Even  now  I  see  her,'  said    Besso. 

He  could  say  no  more,  for  the  sweetest  form  in 
the  world  had  locked  him  in  her  arms. 

"Tis  the  letter  of  the  third  Cabala,'  said  Issachar, 
the  son  of  Selim. 


CHAPTER   LIX 


Tancred  Returns  to  Jerusalem. 

ANCRED  had  profited  by  his  sur- 
prise by  the  children  of  Rechab  in 
the  passes  of  the  Stony  Arabia,  and 
had  employed  the  same  tactics 
against  the  Turkish  force.  By  a 
simulated  defence  on  the  borders, 
and  by  the  careful  dissemination  of  false  intelligence, 
he  had  allowed  the  Pasha  and  his  troops  to  penetrate 
the  mountains,  and  principally  by  a  pass  which  the 
Turks  were  assured  by  their  spies  that  the  Ansarey 
had  altogether  neglected.  The  success  of  these  ma- 
noeuvres had  been  as  complete  as  the  discomfiture  and 
rout  of  the  Turks.  Tancred,  at  the  head  of  the  cav- 
alry, had  pursued  them  into  the  plain,  though  he  had 
halted,  for  an  instant,  before  he  quitted  the  moun- 
tains, to  send  a  courier  to  Astarte  from  himself  with 
the  assurance  of  victory,  and  the  horsetails  of  the 
Pasha  for  a  trophy. 

It  so  happened,  however,  that,  while  Tancred, 
with  very  few  attendants,  was  scouring  the  plain,  and 
driving  before  him  a  panic-struck  multitude,  who,  if 
they  could  only  have  paused  and  rallied,  might  in  a 
moment  have  overwhelmed  him,  a  strong  body  of 
Turkish  cavalry,  who   had  entered  the   mountains  by 

(395) 


396  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

a  different  pass  from  that  in  which  the  principal  en- 
gagement had  taken  place,  but  who,  learning  the 
surprise  and  defeat  of  the  main  body,  had  thought  it 
wise  to  retreat  in  order  and  watch  events,  debouched 
at  this  moment  from  the  high  country  into  the  plain 
and  in  the  rear  of  Tancred.  Had  they  been  immedi- 
ately recognised  by  the  fugitives,  it  would  have  been 
impossible  for  Tancred  to  escape;  but  the  only  im- 
pression of  the  routed  Turks  was,  that  a  reinforce- 
ment had  joined  their  foe,  and  their  disorder  was 
even  increased  by  the  appearance  in  the  distance  of 
their  own  friends.  This  misapprehension  must,  how- 
ever, in  time,  have  been  at  least  partially  removed; 
but  Baroni,  whose  quick  glance  had  instantly  de- 
tected the  perilous  incident,  warned  Tancred  imme- 
diately. 

'We  are  surrounded,  my  lord;  there  is  only  one 
course  to  pursue.  To  regain  the  mountains  is  im- 
possible; if  we  advance,  we  enter  only  a  hostile 
country,  and  must  be  soon  overpowered.  We  must 
make  for  the  Eastern  desert.' 

Tancred  halted  and  surveyed  the  scene:  he  had 
with  him  not  twenty  men.  The  Turkish  cavalry, 
several  hundreds  strong,  had  discovered  their  quarry, 
and  were  evidently  resolved  to  cut  off  their  retreat. 

'Very  well,'  said  Tancred,  'we  are  well  mounted, 
we  must  try  the  mettle  of  our  steeds.  Farewell,  Gin- 
darics!  Farewell,  gods  of  Olympus!  To  the  desert, 
which  I  ought  never  to  have  quitted!'  and,  so  speak- 
ing, he  and  his  band  dashed  towards  the  East. 

Their  start  was  so  considerable  that  they  baffled 
their  pursuers,  who,  however,  did  not  easily  relin- 
quish their  intended  prey.  Some  shots  in  the  dis- 
tance,   towards    nightfall,    announced    that   the   enemy 


TANCRED  397 

had  given  up  the  chase.  After  three  hours  of  the 
moon,  Tancred  and  his  companions  rested  at  a  well 
not  far  from  a  village,  where  they  obtained  some 
supplies.  An  hour  before  dawn,  they  again  pursued 
their  way  over  a  rich  flat  country,  uninclosed,  yet 
partially  cultivated,  with,  every  now  and  then,  a  vil- 
lage nestling  in  a  jungle  of  Indian  fig. 

It  was  the  commencement  of  December,  and  the 
country  was  very  parched;  but  the  short  though  vio- 
lent season  of  rain  was  at  hand:  this  renovates  in  the 
course  of  a  week  the  whole  face  of  Nature,  and  pours 
into  little  more  than  that  brief  space  the  supplies 
which  in  other  regions  are  distributed  throughout  the 
year.  On  the  third  day,  before  sunset,  the  country 
having  gradually  become  desolate  and  deserted,  con- 
sisting of  vast  plains  covered  with  herds,  with 
occasionally  some  wandering  Turkmans  or  Kurds, 
Tancred  and  his  companions  came  within  sight  of  a 
broad  and  palmy  river,  a  branch  of  the  Euphrates. 

The  country  round,  far  as  the  eye  could  range, 
was  a  kind  of  downs  covered  with  a  scanty  herbage, 
now  brown  with  heat  and  age.  When  Tancred  had 
gained  an  undulating  height,  and  was  capable  of 
taking  a  more  extensive  survey  of  the  land,  it  pre- 
sented, especially  towards  the  south,  the  same  features 
through  an  illimitable  space. 

'The  Syrian  desert!'  said  Baroni;  'a  fortnight 
later,  and  we  shall  see  this  land  covered  with  flowers 
and  fragrant  with  aromatic  herbs.' 

'My  heart  responds  to  it,'  said  Tancred.  'What 
is  Damascus,  with  all  its  sumptuousness,  to  this 
sweet  liberty?' 

Quitting  the  banks  of  the  river,  they  directed 
their  course  to  the  south,  and  struck  as    it  were   into 


398  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

the  heart  of  the  desert;  yet,  on  the  morrow,  the 
winding  waters  again  met  them.  And  now  there 
opened  on  their  sight  a  wondrous  scene:  as  far  as 
the  eye  could  reach  innumerable  tents;  strings  of 
many  hundred  camels  going  to,  or  returning  from, 
the  waters;  groups  of  horses  picketed  about;  proces- 
sions of  women  with  vases  on  their  heads  visiting 
the  palmy  banks;  swarms  of  children  and  dogs; 
spreading  flocks;  and  occasionally  an  armed  horse- 
man bounding  about  the  environs  of  the  vast  encamp- 
ment. 

Although  scarcely  a  man  was  visible  when  Tan- 
cred  first  caught  a  glimpse  of  this  Arabian  settlement, 
a  band  of  horsemen  suddenly  sprang  from  behind  a 
rising  ground  and  came  galloping  up  to  them  to  re- 
connoitre and  to  inquire. 

'We  are  brothers,'  said  Baroni,  'for  who  should 
be  the  master  of  so  many  camels  but  the  lord  of  the 
Syrian  pastures?' 

'There  is  but  one  God,'  said  the  Bedouin,  'and 
none  are  lords  of  the  Syrian  pastures  but  the  children 
of  Rechab.' 

'Truly,  there  is  only  one  God,'  said  Baroni;  'go 
tell  the  great  Sheikh  that  his  friend  the  English 
prince  has  come  here  to  give  him  a  salaam  of  peace.' 

Away  bounded  back  the  Bedouins,  and  were  soon 
lost  in  the  crowded  distance. 

'All  is  right,'  said  Baroni;  'we  shall  sup  to-night 
under  the  pavilion  of  Amalek.' 

'  1  visit  him  then,  at  length,  in  his  beautiful  pas- 
tures,' said  Tancred;  'but,  alas!  I  visit  him  alone.' 

They  had  pulled  up  their  horses,  and  were  pro- 
ceeding leisurely  towards  the  encampment,  when  they 
observed  a  cavalcade  emerging  from  the  outer  bound- 


TANCRED 


399 


ary  of  the  settlement.  This  was  Amaiek  himself,  on 
one  of  his  steeds  of  race,  accompanied  by  several  of 
his  leading  Sheikhs,  coming  to  welcome  Tancred  to 
his  pavilion  in  the  Syrian  pastures.  A  joyful  satisfac- 
tion sparkled  in  the  bright  eyes  of  the  old  chieftain, 
as,  at  a  little  distance,  he  waved  his  hand  with  grace- 
ful dignity,  and  then  pressed  it  to  his  heart. 

'A  thousand  salaams,'  he  exclaimed,  when  he  had 
reached  Tancred;  'there  is  but  one  God.  I  press  you 
to  my  heart  of  hearts.  There  are  also  other  friends, 
but  they  are  not  here.' 

'  Salaam,  great  Sheikh!  I  feel  indeed  we  are  brothers. 
There  are  friends  of  whom  we  must  speak,  and  in- 
deed of  many  things.' 

Thus  conversing  and  riding  side  by  side,  Amaiek 
and  Tancred  entered  the  camp.  Nearly  five  thousand 
persons  were  collected  together  in  this  wilderness, 
and  two  thousand  warriors  were  prepared  at  a  mo- 
ment's notice  to  raise  their  lances  in  the  air.  There 
were  nearly  as  many  horses,  and  ten  times  as  many 
camels.  This  wilderness  was  the  principal  and  fa- 
vourite resting-place  of  the  great  Sheikh  of  the  children 
of  Rechab,  and  the  abundant  waters  and  comparatively 
rich  pasturage  permitted  him  to  gather  around  him  a 
great  portion  of  his  tribe. 

The  lamps  soon  gleamed,  and  the  fires  soon  blazed; 
sheep  were  killed,  bread  baked,  coffee  pounded,  and 
the  pipe  of  honour  was  placed  in  the  hands  of  Tan- 
cred. For  an  Arabian  revel,  the  banquet  was  long  and 
rather  elaborate.  By  degrees,  however,  the  guests  stole 
away;  the  women  ceased  to  peep  through  the  cur- 
tains; and  the  children  left  off  asking  Baroni  to  give 
them  backsheesh.  At  length,  Amaiek  and  Tancred 
being   left  alone,  the  great  Sheikh,  who   had    hitherto 


400  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

evinced  no  curiosity  as  to  the  cause  of  the  presence 
of  his  guest,  said,  '  There  is  a  time  for  all  things,  for 
eating  and  for  drinking,  also  for  prayers.  There  is, 
also,  a  season  to  ask  questions.  Why  is  the  brother  of 
the  Queen  of  the  English  in  the  Syrian  desert  ? ' 

'There  is  much  to  tell,  and  much  to  inquire,'  said 
Tancred;  'but  before  1  speak  of  myself,  let  me  know 
whether  you  can  get  me  tidings  of  Eva,  the  daughter 
of  Besso.' 

'Is  she  not  living  in  rooms  with  many  divans.?' 
said  Amalek. 

'Alas!'  said  Tancred,  'she  was  a  prisoner,  and  is 
now  a  fugitive.' 

'What  children  of  Gin  have  done  this  deed.?  Are 
there  strange  camels  drinking  at  my  wells  ?  is  it 
some  accursed  Kurd  that  has  stolen  her  sheep;  or 
some  Turkman,  blacker  than  night,  that  has  hankered 
after  her  bracelets.?' 

'Nothing  of  all  this,  yet  more  than  all  this.  All 
shall  be  told  to  you,  great  Sheikh,  yet  before  I  speak, 
tell  me  again,  can  you  get  me  tidings  of  Eva,  the 
daughter  of  Besso?' 

'Can  1  fire  an  arrow  that  will  hit  its  mark.?'  said 
Amalek;  'tell  me  the  city  of  Syria  where  Eva  the 
daughter  of  Besso  may  be  found,  and  I  will  send  her 
a  messenger  that  would  reach  her  even  in  the  bath, 
were  she  there.' 

Tancred  then  gave  the  great  Sheikh  a  rapid  sketch 
of  what  had  occurred  to  Eva,  and  expressed  his  fear 
that  she  might  have  been  intercepted  by  the  Turkish 
troops.  Amalek  decided  that  she  must  be  at  Aleppo, 
and,  instantly  summoning  one  of  his  principal  men, 
he  gave  instructions  for  the  departure  of  a  trusty  scout 
in  that  direction. 


TANCRED  401 

'Ere  the  tenth  day  shall  have  elapsed,'  said  the 
great  Sheikh,  '  we  shall  have  sure  tidings.  And  now 
let  me  know,  prince  of  England,  by  what  strange 
cause  you  could  have  found  yourself  in  the  regions  of 
those  children  of  hell,  the  Ansarey,  who,  it  is  well 
known,  worship  Eblis  in  every  obscene  form.' 

'It  is  a  long  tale,'  said  Tancred,  'but  I  suppose  it 
must  be  told;  but  now  that  you  have  relieved  my 
mind  by  sending  to  Aleppo,  I  can  hardly  forget  that 
I  have  ridden  for  more  than  three  days,  and  with 
little  pause.  I  am  not,  alas!  a  true  Arab,  though  I 
love  Arabia  and  Arabian  thoughts;  and,  indeed,  my 
dear  friend,  had  we  not  met  again,  it  is  impossible 
to  say  what  might  have  been  my  lot,  for  I  now  feel 
that  I  could  not  have  much  longer  undergone  the 
sleepless  toil  I  have  of  late  encountered.  If  Eva  be 
safe,  I  am  content,  or  would  wish  to  feel  so;  but 
what  is  content,  and  what  is  life,  and  what  is  man.? 
Indeed,  great  Sheikh,  the   longer  I  live  and  the  more 

I  think '  and   here  the  chibouque  dropped  gently 

from  Tancred's  mouth,  and  he  himself  sunk  upon  the 
carpet. 


CHAPTER    LX 


The  Road  to  Bethany. 
.0 

ESSO    is    better,'    said    the    Consul 

Pasqualigo  to  Barizy  of  the  Tower, 

as    he    met    him    on   a    December 

morning  in  the  Via  Dolorosa. 

'  Yes,  but   he    is  by  no   means 

well,'  quickly  rejoined  Barizy.     'The 

physician  of  the  English  prince  told  me ' 

'  He   has   not    seen    the    physician    of  the    English 
prince!'  screamed  Pasqualigo,  triumphantly. 

M  know  that,'  said  Barizy,  rallying;   'but  the  phy- 
sician   of  the   English   prince   says    for    flesh-wounds 


'There  are  no  flesh-wounds,'  said  the  Consul  Pas- 
qualigo. 'They  have  all  healed;  'tis  an  internal 
shock.' 

'  For  internal  shocks,'  said  Barizy  of  the  Tower, 
'there  is  nothing  like  rosemary  stewed  with  salt,  and 
so  keep  on  till  it  simmers.' 

'That  is  very  well  for  a  bruise,'  said  the  Consul 
Pasqualigo. 

'A  bruise  is  a  shock,'  said  Barizy  of  the  Tower. 

'  Besso  should  have  remained  at  Aleppo,'  said  the 
Consul. 

(402) 


TANCRED 


403 


'Besso  always  comes  to  Jerusalem  when  he  is  in- 
disposed,' said  Barizy;  'as  he  well  says,  'tis  the  only 
air  that  can  cure  him;  and,  if  he  cannot  be  cured, 
why,  at  least,  he  can  be  buried  in  the  Valley  of  Je- 
hoshaphat.' 

'He  is  not  at  Jerusalem,'  said  the  Consul  Pasqua- 
ligo,  maliciously. 

'How  do  you  mean?'  said  Barizy,  somewhat  con- 
fused. 'I  am  now  going  to  inquire  after  him,  and 
smoke  some  of  his  Latakia.' 

'He  is  at  Bethany,'  said  the  Consul. 

'Hem!'  said  Barizy,  mysteriously,  'Bethany! 
Will  that  marriage  come  off  now,  think  you  ?  I  al- 
ways fancy,  when,  eh  ? ' 

'She  will  not  marry  till  her  father  has  recovered,' 
said  the  Consul. 

'This  is  a  curious  story,'  said  Barizy.  'The  regu- 
lar troops  beaten  by  the  Kurds.' 

'They  were  not  Kurds,'  said  the  Consul  Pasqua- 
ligo.  'They  were  Russians  in  disguise.  Some  can- 
non have  been  taken,  which  were  cast  at  St. 
Petersburg;  and,  besides,  there  is  a  portfolio  of  state 
papers  found  on  a  Cossack,  habited  as  a  Turkman, 
which  betrays  all.  The  documents  are  to  be  pub- 
lished in  numbers,  with  explanatory  commentaries. 
Consul-General  Laurella  writes  from  Damascus  that 
the  Eastern  question  is  more  alive  than  ever.  We  are 
on  the  eve  of  great  events.* 

'You  don't  say  so?'  said  Barizy  of  the  Tower, 
losing  his  presence  of  mind  from  this  overwhelming 
superiority  of  information.  'I  always  thought  so. 
Palmerston  will  never  rest  till  he  gets  Jerusalem.' 

'The  English  must  have  markets,'  said  the  Consul 
Pasqualigo. 


404  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'Very  just,'  said  Barizy  of  the  Tower,  'There 
will  be  a  great  opening  here.  I  think  of  doing  a 
little  myself  in  cottons;  but  the  house  of  Besso  will 
monopolise  everything,' 

'I  don't  think  the  English  can  do  much  here,'  said 
the  Consul,  shaking  his  head.  'What  have  we  to 
give  them  in  exchange  ?  The  people  here  had  better 
look  to  Austria,  if  they  wish  to  thrive.  The  Aus- 
trians  also  have  cottons,  and  they  are  Christians. 
They  will  give  you  their  cottons,  and  take  your  cru- 
cifixes.' 

'I  don't  think  I  can  deal  in  crucifixes,'  said  Barizy 
of  the  Tower. 

'  I  tell  you  what,  if  you  won't,  your  cousin  Barizy 
of  the  Gate  will.  I  know  he  has  given  a  great  order 
to  Bethlehem.' 

'The  traitor!'  exclaimed  Barizy  of  the  Tower. 
'Well,  if  people  will  purchase  crucifixes  and  nothing 
else,  they  must  be  supplied.  Commerce  civilises 
man.' 

'Who  is  this?'  exclaimed  the  Consul  Pasqualigo. 

A  couple  of  horsemen,  well  mounted,  but  travel- 
worn,  and  followed  by  a  guard  of  Bedouins,  were 
coming  up  the  Via  Dolorosa,  and  stopped  at  the 
house  of  Hassan  Nejid. 

"Tis  the  English  prince,'  said  Barizy  of  the  Tower. 
'He  has  been  absent  six  months;  he  has  been  in 
Egypt.' 

*  To  see  the  temples  of  the  fire-worshippers,  and 
to  shoot  crocodiles.  They  all  do  that,'  said  the  Con- 
sul Pasqualigo. 

'How  glad  he  must  be  to  get  back  to  Jerusalem,' 
said  Barizy  of  the  Tower.  'There  may  be  larger 
cities,  but  there  are  certainly  none  so  beautiful.' 


TANCRED  405 

'The  most  beautiful  city  in  the  world  is  the  city 
of  Venice,'  said  Pasqualigo. 

'  You  have  never  been  there,'  said  Barizy. 

'But  it  was  built  principally  by  my  ancestors,' 
said  the  Consul,  'and  I  have  a  print  of  it  in  my  hall.' 

'I  never  heard  that  Venice  was  comparable  to  Je- 
rusalem,' said  Barizy. 

'  Jerusalem  is,  in  every  respect,  an  abode  fit  for 
swine,  compared  with  Venice,' said  Pasqualigo. 

'  1  would  have  you  to  know.  Monsieur  Pasqualigo, 
who  call  yourself  consul,  that  the  city  of  Jerusalem  is 
not  only  the  city  of  God,  but  has  ever  been  the  de- 
light and  pride  of  man.' 

'Pish!'  said  Pasqualigo. 

'Poh!'  said  Barizy. 

'  I  am  not  at  all  surprised  that  Besso  got  out  of  it 
as  soon  as  he  possibly  could.' 

'  You  would  not  dare  to  say  these  things  in  his 
presence,'  said  Barizy. 

'Who  says  "dare"  to  the  representative  of  a 
European  Power! ' 

'I  say  "dare"  to  the  son  of  the  janissary  of  the 
Austrian  Vice-Consul  at  Sidon.' 

'You  will  hear  more  of  this,'  said  Pasqualigo, 
fiercely.  '  I  shall  make  a  representation  to  the  Inter- 
nonce  at  Stamboul.' 

'  You  had  better  go  there  yourself,  as  you  are  tired 
of  El  Khuds.' 

Pasqualigo,  not  having  a  repartee  ready,  shot  at 
his  habitual  comrade  a  glance  of  withering  contempt, 
and  stalked  away. 

In  the  meantime,  Tancred  dismounted  and  entered 
for  the  first  time  his  house  at  Jerusalem,  of  which  he 
had  been  the  nominal  tenant  for  half  a  year.      Baroni 


4o6  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

was  quite  at  home,  as  he  knew  the  house  in  old 
days,  and  had  also  several  times  visited,  on  this  latter 
occasion,  the  suite  of  Tancred.  Freeman  and  True- 
man,  who  had  been  forwarded  on  by  the  British  Con- 
sul at  Beiroot,  like  bales  of  goods,  were  at  their 
post,  bowing  as  if  their  master  had  just  returned 
from  a  club.  But  none  of  the  important  members  of 
the  body  were  at  this  moment  at  hand.  Colonel 
Brace  was  dining  with  the  English  Consul  on  an  ex- 
perimental plum-pudding,  preliminary  to  the  authentic 
compound,  which  was  to  appear  in  a  few  days.  It 
was  supposed  to  be  the  first  time  that  a  Christmas 
pudding  had  been  concocted  at  Jerusalem,  and  the 
excitement  in  the  circle  was  considerable.  The  Colo- 
nel had  undertaken  to  supervise  the  preparation,  and 
had  been  for  several  days  instilling  the  due  instruc- 
tions into  a  Syrian  cook,  who  had  hitherto  only  suc- 
ceeded in  producing  a  result  which  combined  the 
specific  gravity  of  lead  with  the  general  flavour  and 
appearance  of  a  mass  of  kneaded  dates,  in  a  state  of 
fermentation  after  a  lengthy  voyage.  The  Rev.  Mr. 
Bernard  was  at  Bethlehem,  assisting  the  Bishop  in 
catechising  some  converts  who  had  passed  themselves 
off  as  true  children  of  Israel,  but  who  were  in  fact, 
older  Christians  than  either  of  their  examinants,  being 
descendants  of  some  Nestorian  families,  who  had 
settled  in  the  south  of  Palestine  in  the  earlier  ages  of 
Christianity.  As  for  Dr.  Roby,  he  was  culling  sim- 
ples in  the  valley  of  the  Jordan;  and  thus  it  happened 
that,  when  Tancred  at  length  did  evince  some  dispo- 
sition to  settle  down  quietly  under  his  ov/n  roof,  and 
avail  himself  of  the  services  and  society  of  his  friends, 
not  one  of  them  was  present  to  receive  and  greet  him. 
Tancred    roamed    about   the    house,    surveyed    his 


TANCRED  407 

court  and  garden,  sighed,  while  Baroni  rewarded  and 
dismissed  their  escort.  *1  know  not  how  it  is,'  he  at 
length  said  to  his  intendant,  'but  I  never  could  have 
supposed  that  I  could  have  felt  so  sad  and  spiritless 
at  Jerusalem.' 

'  It  is  the  reaction,  my  lord,  after  a  month's  wan- 
dering in  the  desert.  It  is  always  so:  the  world 
seems  tame.' 

'I  am  disappointed  that  Besso  is  not  here.  I  am 
most  anxious  to  see  him.' 

'Shall  I  send  for  the  Colonel,  my  lord.?'  said  Ba- 
roni, shaking  Tancred's  Arabian  cloak. 

'Well,  I  think  I  should  let  him  return  naturally,' 
said  Tancred;  'sending  for  him  is  a  scene;  and  I  do 
not  know  why,  Baroni,  but  I  feel  —  1  feel  unstrung.  I 
am  surprised  that  there  are  no  letters  from  England; 
and  yet  1  am  rather  glad  too,  for  a  letter ' 

'Received  some  months  after  its  date,'  said  Baroni, 
'is  like  the  visit  of  a  spectre.  I  shudder  at  the  sight 
of  it.' 

'Heighol'  said  Tancred,  stretching  his  arm,  and 
half-speaking  to  himself,  '  I  wish  the  battle  of  Gin- 
darics  had  never  ceased,  but  that,  like  some  hero  of 
enchantment,  I  had  gone  on  for  ever  fighting.' 

'Ah!  there  is  nothing  like  action,'  said  Baroni,  un- 
screwing his  pistols. 

'But  what  action  is  there  in  this  world?'  said 
Tancred.  'The  most  energetic  men  in  Europe  are 
mere  busybodies.  Empires  are  now  governed  like 
parishes,  and  a  great  statesman  is  only  a  select  ves- 
tryman. And  they  are  right:  unless  we  bring  man 
nearer  to  heaven,  unless  government  become  again 
divine,  the  insignificance  of  the  human  scheme  must 
paralyse  all  effort.' 


4o8  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'Hem!'  said  Baroni,  kneeling  down  and  opening 
Tancred's  rifle-case.  The  subject  was  getting  a  little 
too  deep  for  him.  *I  perceive,'  he  said  to  himself, 
'that  my  lord  is  very  restless.  There  is  something 
at  the  bottom  of  his  mind  which,  perhaps,  he  does 
not  quite  comprehend  himself;   but  it  will  come  out.' 

Tancred  passed  the  day  alone  in  reading,  or  walk- 
ing about  his  room  with  an  agitated  and  moody  step. 
Often  when  his  eye  rested  on  the  page,  his  mind 
wandered  from  the  subject,  and  he  was  frequently 
lost  in  profound  and  protracted  reverie.  The  evening 
drew  on;  he  retired  early  to  his  room,  and  gave 
orders  that  he  was  not  to  be  disturbed.  At  a  later 
hour.  Colonel  Brace  returned,  having  succeeded  in  his 
principal  enterprise,  and  having  also  sung  the  national 
anthem.  He  was  greatly  surprised  to  hear  that  Lord 
Montacute  had  returned;  but  Baroni  succeeded  in 
postponing  the  interview  until  the  morrow.  An  hour 
after  the  Colonel,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Bernard  returned  from 
Bethlehem.  He  was  in  great  tribulation,  as  he  had 
been  pursued  by  some  of  the  vagabonds  of  that  ruf- 
fianly district;  a  shot  had  even  been  fired  after  him; 
but  this  was  only  to  frighten  him.  The  fact  is,  the 
leader  of  the  band  was  his  principal  catechumen,  who 
was  extremely  desirous  of  appropriating  a  very  splen- 
did copy  of  the  Holy  Writings,  richly  bound,  and 
adorned  with  massy  golden  clasps,  which  the  Duch- 
ess of  Bellamont  had  presented  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Ber- 
nard before  his  departure,  and  which  he  always,  as  a 
sort  of  homage  to  one  whom  he  sincerely  respected, 
displayed  on  any  eminent  instance  of  conversion. 

The  gates  of  the  city  were  closed  when  Dr.  Roby 
returned,  laden  with  many  rare  balsams.  The  con- 
sequence   was,    he    was    obliged   to   find    quarters    in 


TANCRED  409 

a  tomb  in  the  valley  of  Jehoshaphat.  As  his  attendant 
was  without  food,  when  his  employer  had  sunk  into 
philosophic  repose,  he  supped  off  the  precious  herbs 
and  roots,  and  slaked  his  thirst  with  a  draught  from 
the  fountain  of  Siloah. 

Tancred  passed  a  night  of  agitating  dreams. 
Sometimes  he  was  in  the  starry  desert,  sometimes  in 
the  caverned  dungeons  of  Gindarics.  Then,  again, 
the  scene  changed  to  Bellamont  Castle,  but  it  would 
seem  that  Fakredeen  was  its  lord;  and  when  Tancred 
rushed  forward  to  embrace  his  mother,  she  assumed 
the  form  of  the  Syrian  goddess,  and  yet  the  face  was 
the  face  of  Eva.  Though  disturbed,  he  slept,  and 
when  he  woke,  he  was  for  a  moment  quite  uncon- 
scious of  being  at  Jerusalem.  Although  within  a 
week  of  Christmas,  no  sensible  difference  had  yet  oc- 
curred in  the  climate.  The  golden  sun  succeeded  the 
silver  moon,  and  both  reigned  in  a  clear  blue  sky.  You 
may  dine  at  night  on  the  terrace  of  your  house  at 
Jerusalem  in  January,  and  find  a  serene  and  benig- 
nant atmosphere. 

Tancred  rose  early;  no  one  was  stirring  in  the 
house  except  the  native  servants,  and  Mr.  Freeman, 
who  was  making  a  great  disturbance  about  hot 
water.  Tancred  left  a  message  with  this  gentleman 
for  the  Colonel  and  his  companions,  begging  that 
they  might  all  meet  at  breakfast,  and  adding  that  he 
was  about  to  stroll  for  half  an  hour.  Saying  this,  he 
quitted  the  house,  and  took  his  way  by  the  gate  of 
Stephen  to  the  Mount  of  Olives. 

It  was  a  delicious  morn,  wonderfully  clear,  and 
soft,  and  fresh.  It  seemed  a  happy  and  a  thriving 
city,  that  forlorn  Jerusalem,  as  Tancred,  from  the 
heights  of  Olivet,  gazed  upon  its  noble  buildings,  and 


4IO  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

its  cupolaed  houses  of  freestone,  and  its  battlemented 
walls  and  lofty  gates.  Nature  was  fair,  and  the  sense 
of  existence  was  delightful.  It  seemed  to  Tancred  that 
a  spicy  gale  came  up  the  ravines  of  the  wilderness, 
from  the  farthest  Arabia. 

Lost  in  prolonged  reverie,  the  hours  flew  on.  The 
sun  was  mounting  in  the  heavens  when  Tancred 
turned  his  step,  but,  instead  of  approaching  the  city, 
he  pursued  a  winding  path  in  an  opposite  direction. 
That  path  led  to  Bethany. 


CHAPTER   LXI 


Arrival  of  the  Duke  and 
Duchess. 

HE  crest  of  the  palm  tree  in  the 
garden  of  Eva  glittered  in  the  de- 
clining sun;  and  the  lady  of  Bethany 
sat  in  her  kiosk  on  the  margin  of 
the  fountain,  unconsciously  playing 
with  a  flower,  and  gazing  in  ab- 
straction on  the  waters.  She  had  left  Tancred  with 
her  father,  now  convalescent.  They  had  passed  the 
morning  together,  talking  over  the  strange  events  that 
had  occurred  since  they  first  became  acquainted  on 
this  very  spot;  and  now  the  lady  of  Bethany  had 
retired  to  her  own  thoughts. 

A  sound  disturbed  her;  she  looked  up  and  recog- 
nised Tancred. 

'  I  could  not  refrain  from  seeing  the  sun  set  on 
Arabia,'  he  said;  'I  had  almost  induced  the  noble 
Besso  to  be  my  companion.' 

'The  year  is  too  old,'  said  Eva,  not  very  com- 
posed. 

'They  should  be  midsummer  nights,'  said  Tancred, 
'as  on  my  first  visit  here;   that  hour   thrice   blessed!' 
'We    know    not   what   is   blessed    in    this    world,' 
said  Eva,  mournfully. 

(4") 


412  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

'I  feel  I  do,'  murmured  Tancred;  and  he  also 
seated  himself  on  the  margin  of  the  fountain. 

'Of  all  the  strange  incidents  and  feelings  that  we 
have  been  talking  over  this  day,'  said  Eva,  'there 
seems  to  me  but  one  result;  and  that  is,  sadness.' 

'  It  is  certainly  not  joy,'  said  Tancred. 

'There  comes  over  me  a  great  despondency,'  said 
Eva,  'I  know  not  why,  my  convictions  are  as  pro- 
found as  they  were,  my  hopes  should  not  be  less 
high,  and  yet ' 

'And  what.^'  said  Tancred,  in  a  low,  sweet  voice, 
for  she  hesitated. 

'  I  have  a  vague  impression,'  said  Eva,  sorrow- 
fully, '  that  there  have  been  heroic  aspirations  wasted, 
and  noble  energies  thrown  away;  and  yet,  perhaps,' 
she  added,  in  a  faltering  tone,  'there  is  no  one  to 
blame.  Perhaps,  all  this  time,  we  have  been  dream- 
ing over  an  unattainable  end,  and  the  only  source  of 
deception  is  our  own  imagination.' 

'My  faith  is  firm,'  said  Tancred;  'but  if  anything 
could  make  it  falter,  it  would  be  to  find  you  waver- 
ing.' 

'Perhaps  it  is  the  twilight  hour,'  said  Eva,  with  a 
faint  smile.     'It  sometimes  makes  one  sad.' 

'There  is  no  sadness  where  there  is  sympathy,' 
said  Tancred,  in  a  low  voice.  'I  have  been,  I  am 
sad,  when  I  am  alone:  but  when  I  am  with  you, 
my  spirit  is  sustained,  and  would  be,  come  what 
might.' 

'And  yet '  said  Eva;  and  she  paused. 

'  And  what  ?' 

'  Your  feelings  cannot  be  what  they  were  before 
all  this  happened;  when  you  thought  only  of  a  divine 
cause,  of  stars,    of  angels,    and    of  our   peculiar   and 


TANCRED  413 

gifted  land.  No,  no;  now  it  is  ail  mixed  up  witli  in- 
trigue, and  politics,  and  management,  and  baffled 
schemes,  and  cunning  arts  of  men.  You  may  be,  you 
are,  free  from  all  this,  but  your  faith  is  not  the  same. 
You  no  longer  believe  in  Arabia.' 

'Why,  thou  to  me  art  Arabia,'  said  Tancred,  ad- 
vancing and  kneeling  at  her  side.  '  The  angel  of 
Arabia,  and  of  my  life  and  spirit!  Talk  not  to  me  of 
faltering  faith:  mine  is  intense.  Talk  not  to  me 
of  leaving  a  divine  cause:  why,  thou  art  my  cause, 
and  thou  art  most  divine!  O  Eva!  deign  to  accept 
the  tribute  of  my  long  agitated  heart!  Yes,  I  too, 
like  thee,  am  sometimes  full  of  despair;  but  it  is  only 
when  I  remember  that  1  love,  and  love,  perhaps,  in 
vain!' 

He  had  clasped  her  hand;  his  passionate  glance 
met  her  eye,  as  he  looked  up  with  adoration  to  a  face 
infinitely  distressed.  Yet  she  withdrew  not  her  hand, 
as  she  murmured,  with  averted  head,  'We  must  not 
talk  of  these  things;  we  must  not  think  of  them. 
You  know  all.' 

'1  know  of  nothing,  I  will  know  of  nothing,  but 
of  my  love.' 

'There  are  those  to  whom  I  belong;  and  to  whom 
you  belong.  Yes,'  she  said,  trying  to  withdraw 
her  hand,  'fly,  fly  from  me,  son  of  Europe  and  of 
Christ!' 

'  1  am  a  Christian  in  the  land  of  Christ,'  said  Tan- 
cred, 'and  I  kneel  to  a  daughter  of  my  Redeemer's 
race.     Why  should  I  fly?' 

'Oh!  this  is  madness!* 

'Say,  rather,  inspiration,'  said  Tancred,  'for  I  will 
not  quit  this  fountain  by  which  we  first  met  until  I 
am    told,  as   you   now  will    tell   me,'  he   added,  in  a 


414  BENJAMIN    DISRAELI 

tone  of  gushing  tenderness,  '  that  our  united  destinies 
shall  advance  the  sovereign  purpose  of  our  hves.  Talk 
not  to  me  of  others,  of  those  v^ho  have  claims  on 
you  or  on  myself.  I  have  no  kindred,  no  country, 
and,  as  for  the  ties  that  would  bind  you,  shall  such 
world-worn  bonds  restrain  our  consecrated  aim? 
Say  but  you  love  me,  and  I  will  trample  them  to 
the  dust.' 

The  head  of  Eva  fell  upon  his  shoulder.  He  im- 
pressed an  embrace  upon  her  cheek.  It  was  cold, 
insensible.  Her  hand,  which  he  still  held,  seemed  to 
have  lost  all  vitality.  Overcome  by  contending  emo- 
tions, the  principle  of  life  seemed  to  have  deserted 
her.  Tancred  laid  her  reclining  figure  with  gentleness 
on  the  mats  of  the  kiosk;  he  sprinkled  her  pale  face 
with  some  drops  from  the  fountain;  he  chafed  her 
delicate  hand.  Her  eyes  at  length  opened,  and  she 
sighed.  He  placed  beneath  her  head  some  of  the 
cushions  that  were  at  hand.  Recovering,  she  slightly 
raised  herself,  leant  upon  the  marble  margin  of  the 
fountain,  and  looked  about  her  with  a  wildered  air. 

At  this  moment  a  shout  was  heard,  repeated  and 
increased;  soon  the  sound  of  many  voices  and  the 
tramp  of  persons  approaching.  The  vivid  but  brief 
twilight  had  died  away.  Almost  suddenly  it  had  be- 
come night.  The  voices  became  more  audible,  the 
steps  were  at  hand.  Tancred  recognised  his  name, 
frequently  repeated.  Behold  a  crowd  of  many  persons, 
several  of  them  bearing  torches.  There  was  Colonel 
Brace  in  the  van;  on  his  right  was  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Bernard;  on  his  left,  was  Dr.  Roby.  Freeman  and 
Trueman  and  several  guides  and  native  servants  were 
in  the  rear,  most  of  them  proclaiming  the  name  of 
Lord  Montacute. 


TANCRED 


415 


*I  am  here,'  said  Tancred,  advancing  from  the 
kiosk,  pale  and  agitated.     'Why  am  I  wanted?' 

Colonel  Brace  began  to  explain,  but  all  seemed  to 
speak  at  the  same  time. 

The  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Bellamont  had  arrived 
at  Jerusalem. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

Santa  Barbara  College  Library 
Santa  Barbara,  California 


Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 


This  buuk  ia  DUE 


last  date  stamped  below. 


LD  21-10»!-5.'50 
(B9484s4)476 


A  A  001  404  311  1 


3  1205  00319  2612 


hoBir 


Beacorsfield 


Tancred 


vrP^LSflj^ 


PR 

h061{ 

T3 


w. , 


ill! 


f ...,;...., 


lii 


ill 


